Love, and a Box of Chocolates
by The Reviews Lounge
Summary: A Valentines Day collaboration. Individual chapters submitted by members of the Reviews Lounge, featuring everyone's favourite pairings, and a box of chocolates. R&R please!
1. Pansy and Draco

**Staff Note: ****Welcome to our latest collection of oneshots, all based around Valentine's Day. This collaberation is actually based on a challenge created by ToManyLetters, the details of which can be found on our forum. That said, we claim absolutely no ownership to anything JK Rowling created whatsoever, and want nothing more than for people to enjoy our stories.**

**He's Gone  
**  
**(Pansy/Draco)**

**By ToManyLetters **

* * *

Pansy lay stretched out languorously across the sofa in her front room. Her face was smashed against the blue cushion she'd pulled up as a pillow sometime during the night. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was still, calm, and peaceful, and her left hand was tangled slightly in her messy black hair. 

She wore only a green blouse – she had expected to fall asleep on the sofa last night. It had become something of a habit after Draco had left her several months before. Sleeping on such a large mattress as she housed in her bedroom left one feeling alone and lost to the infinite space; there no one to cling to, no one to hold and to love, to take away the aching voice that had for far too long now filled her heart.

There was a knock at the door. Pansy pulled her hand from her face, silently cursing her long hair as she disentangled it from her fingers and pulled it out from in front of her eyes. She groaned as she sat up, stretching her arms outward, over her head, batting her eyes repeatedly to rid them of the sleepy grogginess that threatened to re-take her .

As the knock at the door sounded again, she turned to her Slytherin clock above the mantle of her fireplace. It was half-past noon. She'd slept in a bit much, but it was Saturday, so she shrugged it off.

"Who is it?" she finally called, standing to slip on a pair of shorts.

"Blaise," was the muffled reply that came through the door, "Pans, I've got some news."

"Well, what is it?" she said, putting her hand on her hips.

"Aren't you going to let me in?" Blaise whined in return, she could hear the shivering in his voice. "It's freezing out here."

Pansy smirked her favourite smirk as she picked up her wand from the floor next to the sofa. "Just a minute, Blaise," she said sweetly, "I've got to find my wand." She loved playing games with him, and this seemed as an opportune time as any.

"Pansy, please," he said in annoyance. She could hear him rather clearly, despite his being on the opposite side of the door. "Pretty, pretty please? You can just unlock – "

"Who's the best witch to walk the earth?" Pansy said in a nearly sing-song voice. "And don't you dare say Draco Malfoy!"

She expected to hear a momentary snigger, but was met only with a short, dreary silence, and a force. "It's always been you, Pansy." She frowned. He was getting bad at playing her games. She'd punish him later, she noted mentally before waving her wand at the door, granting a shivering Blaise entrance to her home.

"Thanks," he said sincerely, closing the door behind him.

"So," Pansy said simply, taking a single step toward him as she acted in her most nonchalant sort of way, "what brings you here?" It was then she noticed that he wasn't smiling.

"I have news," he said softly, putting his hand into his pocket. "News that..." he trailed off, pulling a small, white card from his coat, and taking several steps toward her as he opened it.

She let her eyes dart over the few lines of text that were written on the pasty interior of the card, only to close them and let her shoulders sink, her head fall.

_Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass  
are proud to invite you to their wedding,_

_February 16th, 2002 at Malfoy Manor_

Her legs gave out from underneath her, her body went spiralling toward the ground, caught at the last moment by Blaise's tight embrace. He pulled her close to his body and held her, hugging her tightly while searching for the right words to say.

"I'm sorry," he whispered gently kissing her forehead. "I suppose I knew this would upset you, but you needed to know."

She nodded curtly, pulling away from him as she wiped a fresh tear from her cheek. She hated it when she cried, especially in front of people, it made her seem weak, something, she reminded herself repeatedly, that she was _not._

"Just go," she whispered through her tears.

He grimaced, replacing the card in his jacket. "If you need anything – "

"Please," she insisted, "just – just go."

He nodded reluctantly and turned to leave, seeing her sink to the floor as he opened and closed the front door. As she heard the faint sound of his Disapparition, she let herself slip into the vortex of emotions that now ran rampant within her.

She supposed she was foolish, knowing that their relationship had ended on that_dreadful_ Valentine's Day only a few months before, but the pain insisted on clawing at her heart. The tears flowed freely, gradually darkening the Slytherin green of her shorts more with each that landed.

She sobbed even louder as she felt her left ring finger. It was barren, devoid of the slightest jewellery, as naked and alone as she felt.

She could see it all clearly in her mind's eye – a cheery Draco Malfoy at his manor, sliding the ring up a slender finger, a finger that was supposed to be hers, but never would, never could be. She felt a sudden surge of anger build within her. Her hands bunched into fists; her fingers dug into the palm of her hand as she let out a growl of frustration.

In a fit, she grabbed the nearest thing to her – a book on her coffee table, and slung it across the room. It gave an only slightly satisfying thump as it crashed into the wall and landed below. She laughed a maniacal laugh and grabbed another, repeating the motion, cackling loudly as it landed perfectly on the one previous.

She reached for the next book on the table. It was dark green with a fine silver lettering of her name on its cover. She sighed softly, realising that it was her journal that she now held in her hands. Wearing much the same grimace as Blaise had left with, she opened it to a random page and read her own, messy scrawl.

_October 7, 1996  
Draco has to be a moron, seriously. I've tried every move Millicent told me and he's not caught on a single time. I think he must be gay, 'cause that's all that can explain why he's not asked me to Hogsmeade yet._

_Daphne says I should just go out with Blaise. He's asked twice now and is a pretty nice guy, even if he thinks that Weasley girl's ... what was it he said? "Cute" I think I just about died laughing when he told me. It was supposed to be a secret but, well, you know how I am._

She laughed fondly at that memory. Blaise had tried to ask her to Hogsmeade _repeatedly, _he'd even tried to hint that he had a thing for Weaselette to make Pansy jealous, but she just hadn't been interested. Pansy turned the page and began to read the next entry.

_October 9, 1996_

_Scratch what I said, Draco is definitely not gay! He _finally_got the nerve to ask me to Hogsmeade, Millicent nearly peed her pants when I told her, Daphne just rolled her eyes and walked away from me – I swear that witch is jealous. I'm so excited! I can't wait to go! This has to be the best day of my life – I wonder if we can sneak into the Hog's Head and get some Firewhiskey to celebrate._

She heard herself let out an uncharacteristically girlish giggle before she covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself. Had she really been _that _excited about a Hogsmeade trip?

She flipped the page a few more times, landing on the entry recording her day in the Wizarding village in greater detail than she remembered writing.

_October 26, 1996_

_Today, Draco and I went to Hogsmeade together for our first date – hopefully of many. First we went out to the Three Broomsticks – he was too chicken to risk sneaking into the Hog's Head, and had ourselves a few Butterbeers which were, of course, fantastic as always._

_We went into Zonko's and bought a few things to get back at Potter later – I _know_it's him that stuffed Draco's bed full of Dungbombs – and then went to the Shrieking Shack for a while. _

_Hell, who am I kidding! It wasn't a while – it was the whole rest of the time. It was cold, snowy, but it was an awesome place to shag. We didn't though, bummer. But he did kiss me._

She laughed at herself for so desperately wanting to be intimate with Draco. She'd been several times since she'd written the entry, of course, but coming from her sixteen-year-old hand just made it hilarious in its own fashion.

She turned to the last page of the journal. It was blank. Automatically, she grabbed her quill and dated the top of the page February 13th. In her head was the poem sung in the echoey halls of Hogwarts, the school she'd attended what seemed like a lifetime ago. She changed the words in her mind, filled them with her anger and need for relief and wrote what came to her mind.

_His eyes are as icky as freshly peed-on snow, _

_His hair has the sheen of my eyes when I'm bored, _

_I'm glad he's not mine, he's really quite blind, _

_The zero who slept with the Dark Lord._

She giggled at how childish the lyrics sounded, but sighed contentedly, clutching the journal to her chest as she leant backward against the base of her sofa.

There was a tapping on her window across the room. She could see Blaise's tawny owl beating its small wings rapidly to keep itself aloft. She smiled slightly, setting her journal down beside her and walked to open the window to allow the bird inside.

The owl hooted its thanks and went straight toward the ground releasing its large package for her viewing. It was the biggest box of chocolates she'd ever seen, let alone received. Attached was a short note, written in Blaise's beautiful handwriting.

_Want to talk? I'll be in Hogsmeade in an hour._

_Love,_

_Blaise_

_P.S. Don't eat all the chocolate at once, you'll get sick._

She laughed softly at his concern for her well-being and turned the paper over to write her reply.

_I'll be there._

_Thanks,_

_Pansy._


	2. Harry and Ginny

**  
A Valentines Pas de Deux**

**(Harry/Ginny) **

**By respitechristopher**

* * *

Merlin is it cold out here. Hermione's done her best with the warming charms, but we can only keep them going so long at night. By the time we wake up, the temperature in the tent is in the single digits, and outside is hovering at freezing. All of this time, all of this pain, and we've killed only one bloody horcrux, and retrieved no Hallows. We haven't eaten in a day and a half, not since we were able to nick those tins of soup from that muggle grocer. Well, nick is maybe a bit strong, especially when we left a £5 note in their stead. I'll get Hermione to go back there today; if nothing else, it'll keep her off of Ron's back. He's been brilliant since he came back to us. He hasn't told me so, but I'm certain he's on a mission to stand all the watches he ought to have stood while he was gone. Hermione, of course, doesn't see this. No, she has to see it – it's plain as day. She's still too bitter to acknowledge it, though, and it's driving Ron mental.

"Ron. It's my watch now. Send Hermione out here when you get a chance, will you?"

"Right, Harry. Will do."

**--**

"Ginny, it's your watch next."

"Thanks, Lavender. I'll be there in a bit. Give me a bit of time to freshen up, will you?"

"Of course. Come out when you're ready."

Bloody lifesaver this Room of Requirement. Neville's got it rigged so that none of the Slytherin goons could open it if they wanted too. Merlin, but those bastards have it coming to them. They had a second-year in a Cruciatus for five full minutes yesterday. Poor dear came in here all a mess, could barely walk. Gryffindor through and through, that one. The Patils have her in their makeshift infirmary now. She was writing a letter to little Dennis Creevey when Alecto caught her. Sent her off to Goyle for fraternizing with a 'mudblood.' Bastard. Tonight is Potterwatch night – every Saturday. That's been another lifesaver here. No news about Harry since December, but no news is good news, right? If those bastards catch him, it'll be all over every media outlet they can find, so as long as we don't hear differently, he's at least alive. Undesirable Number One my arse. At least no one here knows how to find him. He'd go spare if he knew what had become of Hogwarts.

**--**

"Hermione, you look worse than usual this morning. What's wrong – have you not been eating? Is it…"

"No, Harry. A little malnutrition seems to have taken that joy out of my life.

"Merlin, I'm sorry for snapping love. It's just I've been thinking that last year at this time it was the same man driving me spare, but I'd rather watch him go on a dozen Valentines Day Hogsmeade trips with Lav-Lav than this. He ran out on us, Harry. Why?"

"Hermione, we've been through this. I have no idea, and he's too embarrassed to tell us."

"Well he ought to be."

"And he is. How long is it until Valentines Day anyway?"

"Today's Valentines Day, Harry."

"Merlin. So it is. Happy Valentines Day then, Hermione."

"And to you, Harry. That was sweet, thank you."

"Right. Now go give that same kiss to Ron in there. Don't look at me like that, woman, I don't need you to snog him. Merlin, I don't even need you to like him right now. But let him know you still love him, Hermione. You've seen how he's been working himself. And with us not having any food, he's going to run himself to the ground trying to make everything up to us. To us – right. He's been trying to make it up to you. It's been six weeks now, can we let it go?"

"For the mission, I'll – "

"Sod the mission, Granger! For him. For us. For yourself. Because you love him, too, and he's right there in that tent and you get to tell him that. Fuck, do it because I can't tell Ginny anything today, never mind sending her the whole dozen roses and a box of choccies."

"Harry…"

"Tent. Inside. Talk. Ron. Now. You."

**--**

A sight I am. The Boy Who Lived was out fighting Merlin knows what Merlin knows where, and The Girl He Broke It Off With is safe – okay, safe-ish – here at Hogwarts shaking and crying my eyes out. Watching those wretched Slytherins prance up and down the way to Hogsmeade arm-in-arm with each other like it's their bloody birthday and Christmas all rolled into one. Malfoy looking like the Cheshire sodding Cat with both Greengrass and Parkinson, one on each arm. Those bat-bogies are just the beginning, blondie. Watching this, I think I could let go a pretty mean _Crucio_ or two. Right. Watch me enjoy the hell out of stooping to their level.

"Ginny, how ar – "

"_Stupefy! Expelliarmus! Petrificus Totalis!"_

"Ginny! Let me out of here, woman!"

"_Relashio!_Neville! Merlin's balls, man, don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Good advice there, Weasley. Your stunner makes your bat-bogies look like a love-peck."

"You almost got worse. Ha. Liked that stunner, did you? Should've seen Nott go arse-over-head when I hit him with it right before the Winter holiday. Stupid berk went and talked about Harry, he should've known better. What's got you out and about on Valentines Day of all days, anyway, and in the Common room of all places? I expected you'd be curled up with a good privacy ward in the Room, seeing if you could convince Pavarti and Lavender that a three-way would be just what Harry would have wanted us to do."

"Hey now. That wasn't called for."

"Wasn't called for? Don't look at me, playboy. You've got a leg over every sixth and seventh year Gryffindor female save Hermione and myself this year. Merlin, between you and Creevey… I'm… Well, leadership has its perks, I suppose. Now, what did you want, anyway? You're interrupting a good brood."

"Er, if you care to join us, the DA is having a little Valentines Day party in the Room. No one else thought you'd be doing much of anything today, or wanting to for that matter. I figured Abe sent up some chocolate and some firewhiskey, and you could probably use both."

"Longbottom, you are a prince among men. Lead the way, good sir!"

--

"She kissed me, mate."

"'Bout bloody time. One of you had to – "

"Not like that. Just a peck on the cheek. But still…"

"Ron, I don't care if she said three civil words to you or rode you until you couldn't stand, it's still about bloody time you two could act like friends out here."

"Sounds like a plan that second one does."

"Ron, that's Hermione you're perving about."

"You don't really want to play the 'sister' card, do you, Potter?"

"You don't really want to chew your food from now on, do you, Weasley?"

"Right. Easy does it, mate. I'm just taking the piss here. Besides, we didn't think the middle of a war is time to start much of anything. How long has she been at the grocers?"

"Half-hour now. And don't tell that to Creevey or Longbottom. I think the war's doing wonders for their sex lives – at least according to the map."

"You're watching who's shagging who on the map. Potter, has that scar gone into your brain, now?"

"Eh. Mostly I'm just watching where Ginny goes. I just want to know she's safe."

"Where is she now?"

"Room of Requirement, along with Neville, Pavarti, Lav-Lav – hey, that hurt! – and anyone who may have strolled in while I wasn't looking."

"Sounds like a DA meeting."

"The DA sleeps in the Room of Requirement, or at least they have since the winter holidays."

"Merlin, Potter. How long have you been watching that thing?"

"Since 1st September. And no, I don't want to hear about it."

"So, that whole broken-up thing. That was just a sham, then?"

"Ron. Ginny is not my girlfriend. We broke up at the end of last year. Do you not remember the event?"

"Well sure, Harry, but…"

"I don't know how to make it clearer, then."

"Maybe not staring at a wee dot roam around a map is a good place to start."

"I know how to make it clearer: The longer this line of questioning goes on, the more danger your sister is in should you get captured. How's that for clear, Ron?"

"Crystal."

**--**

"Colin, this is brilliant. Who put this together?"

"Lavender, mostly. But Neville got the refreshments from Abe, and Hannah, Susan and I handled the music."

"Dennis makes the cutest little DJ, too."

"Don't let him hear you say that, Gin. I think he's a bit sweet on you."

"Oh, come off it."

"Are you kidding? The whole 'Girlfriend Who Lived' bit is the height of romance and danger. Denny's always had a keen sense for the dramatic, you know."

"Only danger he'd find around me is that Harry'd kick his poor little arse back to Godric."

"You know, I think that's why Draco and the Malphettes go easy on you. They're worried what's going to happen to them when Harry finds out what's been going on here. Ginny? Ginny, can I get you something? You don't look well."

"Leave the bottle, Creevey."

**--**

She's been in the Room of Requirement for hours now. At least she's safe. And warm. Merlin, if nothing else, I wouldn't want her in this cold. Who am I kidding? I'd want her cold, hot, warm… Damnit Potter. Keep your mind off the girl. That's all we need – let Riddle get one good look at your feelings and Dumbledore will be calling love 'The Power the Dark Lord Knows how to Manipulate'. At least the tummy's warm. Thanks, Hermione.

"You're welcome."

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but I could tell. Those tins of soup were a godsend. At least I didn't have to cook."

"Now I'm really not saying anything."

"You don't have to. I'm a dreadful cook."

"Enough of that, Hermione, you're keeping us alive out here. More'n Ron and I can do."

"Here, Harry. Happy Valentines Day."

"Shouldn't that go to Ron?"

"Oh, he and I have sorted things out. There's just not much we can do about it until this war is over."

"And if this war goes on another three years?"

"Then we'll figure it out then. Eat your chocolate. And don't give me that look. We've waited this long to sort things out, a little thing like a war won't keep us apart long, you know."

"I know, love. I just hate to think how many people's unhappiness I'm the cause of right now."

"Right. Harry, next time just don't start a war with sweet old men like Tom Riddle over nothing. Merlin, and you started this whole thing years before you were born, too."

"You know what I mean. If I could just find those bloody…"

"Hush. Eat your chocolate. Go hit your cot, watch your map and have a good cry."

"I know my hair's gotten long, but Merlin, have I grown breasts, too?"

"Fine, then have a good wank. Whatever. I'll let you know if Ron figures out that Potterwatch password. Just remember Ginny's thinking of you too, tonight. And don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want to rip my eyes out for saying that. You know Draco and Snape have told Riddle everything by now."

"It's my fault then, isn't it? We should have taken her with us."

"Right, because a brilliant, competent, hard-headed witch with a trace on her magic and a stubborn streak the size of the Thames is just what we need. You'd have been too busy keeping her safe to worry about anything else. And knowing the reasonable witch she is, Ginny's figured that out, too. Next time I give you that speech, I expect you to sing along. Turn in, Potter. We have work to do. What was that for?"

"For being the best sister a bloke could ask for. Good night, Hermione."

"Night, Love. Sleep well."

**--**

_So teach us things worth knowing,  _

_Bring back what we've forgot,  _

_Just do your best, we'll do the rest,  _

"And Longbottom is a sot!"

Merlin. Last time they came up with some interesting words, something about broomclosets and busty Hufflepuffs. Oh look, there's Longbottom over there with his tongue in a busty Hufflepuff. Hope Hannah knows what she's getting into. Or is that Susan? Enough firewhiskey, Weasley. Godric's gonads, if MacMillan starts looking that good, I had better get to bed.

"Ginny, wait. You can't go out there like this."

"Like what? Out of my way, skank. Hex you into next week."

"Right, Ginny. Try pointing the wand the right way, first. Merlin, Gin, you're a sitting duck for the Carrows pissed as you are. Colin's asked the Room for cots for all of us. Go turn in."

"Right. Sleep. Good idea."

"Cots are this way, Ginny. That's a girl… easy now."

"So I suppose no one knows, then, Lav?"

"No, sweets. They'd've said something on the broadcast if anyone had heard anything. But no news…"

"Tell me it's good news, Brown. Go on, then. Try your luck."

"Right. Good night then."

"Wait, Lavender. I'm sorry… it's not been the best day today. Pull up a cot, you've kept the Girlfriend Who Stayed Behind safe for another night, reckon you can get some sleep, too."

"Bloody awful kisser that brother of yours."

"I'll take your word for it."

"You're going to need some of those chocolates in the morning. Best thing for a hangover, next to the hair of the dog that bit you."

"Right. Thanks."

"Reckon Granger's taking good care of him?"

"If she's taking that good care of him, I'll rip her fucking face off."

"Your brother, Gin. Focus here."

"There are four of you, Lavender, and the room's spinning too fast for me to focus."

"Point taken. Still, do you think?"

"Merlin, woman. Tell me you're not still pining after that git. He's my brother and I love him dearly, but he wouldn't know what to do with a girl if she came with an instruction manual."

"That's fair. Still, he's quite fit. Merlin is he fit, and…"

"Ew."

"Right. Sorry."

"H'mione was about as prepared for this as anyone could be, Lavender. I'm sure Ron is just fine."

"Like I am about Harry. Quit your moping, Ginny. He'll be back. Meanwhile, we've work to do here."

**--**

'_Looks like you're sleeping in the Room of Requirement tonight, love. Sleep well. I'll be back for you as soon as I can.'_

**--**

'_I love you, Harry. Please be safe.'_

**--**


	3. Fred and OC

**Disclaimer: The song lyrics in this chapter are from the song SomewhereOnly We Know, by Keane. We claim no ownership.  
**

**A Box of Chocolates With Love**

**(Fred/OC)**

**By Pinky Toxxic Acid Blood **

Christmas

The young Ravenclaw sat on the swing, enjoying the winter breeze.

He was so far away from her, physically. Inside of Fred, she felt so close to him, as if he could actually feel her, her short wavy pink hair tickling his cold cheek.

George slapped his cold cheek awake, instead. Both of them.

"Argh!" Fred rubbed his jaw. "What was that for?"

"He means," Lee Jordan explained; taking the binoculars from his eyes, Fred had made him stare at her for the last three hours. "That if that Ravenclaw chick makes you sleepy in love, it's his 'brotherly' duty to wake you up. Isn't that right Forge?"

"Yes, Gred should learn to keep himself awake," George chuckled.

Fred muttered, "Gred and Forge."

"Go wish her a merry Christmas then Gred," Lee Jordan said.

Fred stared back at the Ravenclaw. No. Way.

"Yes Gred, if you don't, I'll make Hermione kick your ass," George said, half-threatening, half-amused.

Fred gave him pitied look. "Hermione? Come on, George, you and I both know our future sister-in-law doesn't know how to kick peoples 'asses'."

Lee Jordan laughed, "I'll make Ron fart in your face continuously. Hearing George's experience, it's gotta stink!"

"Less of the goriness, thanks very much."

An invisible light-bulb shone over George's head, "I'll get Ginny to perform her latest bogey hex on you."

Fred and George knew Ginny was a tough cookie; she'd do anything to get a date from Harry. Including hexing her brothers.

Fred reluctantly stood up. "Okay, well, here goes nothing."

He stood up from behind the bush, and started working despite the fact that George and Lee Jordan were whistling behind him.

After about ten minutes of walking, he stood behind her. She made no reaction; in fact she probably didn't even realise Fred was behind her.

"Venus?" she didn't even turn around.

Her dreamy voice, echoed in the air, "Hello to you too. Fred."

She stopped swinging on the swing, and faced Fred. "What brings you here?"

"Well…" Fred put his hands in his pockets. "Just decided to come along. Didn't expect you to be here though."

"_Wit beyond measure, is a boy's greatest pleasure."_

Fred chuckled.

"I do like to go on, making rhymes," admitted Venus. "Actually, j'ai beaucoup à la maison…"

The redhead totally adored the fact that sometimes she'd go on, speaking in French; even though he didn't know a word she was saying, her accent and pronunciation sounded beautiful.

He breathed, interrupting her, "I want to show you something."

Venus' eyes twinkled. "My Christmas surprise. That's very kind."

xxx-xxx-xxx

"What is it, Fred?" Venus was blind-folded.

"You can look now," Fred un-knotted the blind fold.

Venus' mouth hung open, like an orphan who had just found a home. She breathed, "It's lovely Fred."

Red/Orange Haribo rings hung from sides of the room to other sides. Rose petals were lying on the floor, fresh and had a magnificent fragrance. There was also a picture of Fred with Venus on the ceiling, inside a love heart.

"And here," he took two of the haribo sweets. He placed one on Venus' marriage finger, one on his. "One for me, one for you."

"One for me, one for you," Venus repeated. She walked around the room.

"That looks sweet. Is it a hint?" Venus pointed at the picture.

Fred's ears became redder than ever. "Might be."

He paced closer to her. And closer. Until his face was millimetres away from hers.

"Mistletoe," he whispered to her.

Venus was puzzled. "Isn't that the plant that made the spear which killed The Norse God Baldur, in Danish culture?"

She walked away from him and sat on the rocking chair. She scribbled something on a piece of paper.

Fred read it, after she'd handed it to him, "MI..SS…VEN…US…MC…VEE. Miss Venus McVee?"

"Flip it over."

"WIS…HES…TO…BE…MR…SV…ENU…SWE…ASL…EY. Wishes to be Mrs Venus Weasley?"

"What do you think about it? Am I up to your standards?"

"Definitely. But wait-"

By that time, Venus' lips had already made contact with Fred's, and he felt as though he was worth something to someone.

As if living had a meaning to it.

_I walked across an empty land  
I knew the pathway like the back of my hand  
I felt the earth beneath my feet  
Sat by the river and it made me complete_

_Oh simple thing where have you gone  
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on  
So tell me when you're gonna let me in  
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin_

_I came across a fallen tree  
I felt the branches of it looking at me  
Is this the place we used to love?  
Is this the place that I've been dreaming of?_

_Oh simple thing where have you gone  
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on  
So tell me when you're gonna let me in  
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin_

_And if you have a minute why don't we go  
Talk about it somewhere only we know?  
This could be the end of everything  
So why don't we go  
Somewhere only we know?_

_Oh simple thing where have you gone  
I'm getting old and I need something to rely on  
So tell me when you're gonna let me in  
I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin_

_So if you have a minute why don't we go  
Talk about it somewhere only we know?  
This could be the end of everything  
So why don't we go  
So why don't we go_

_This could be the end of everything  
So why don't we go  
Somewhere only we know?_

"Happy Christmas Fred."

"Happy Lovemas Venus," Fred said, taking in her strawberry fragrance, as she rested on his shoulder.

Disastrous Valentine's Day

Fred had bought Venus a box of chocolates for Valentine's day. He walked to the place only he and Venus knew, passing St. Mungo's. He noticed Venus' real father there, and her step-father.

"Mr. Lovegood," Fred shook Xenophilius' hand. "You must be Venus' step-father."

"And you, her boyfriend? Call me Xenophilius."

Fred grinned and nodded. The other man next to him looked as if he'd just come from hell. "And you must be Mr. McVee?"

"Yes," McVee looked up. "You can call me Sombrero."

"Do you know where Venus is?" Fred looked over the man's shoulder at the hospital.

"She…she's in hospital. St. Mungo's."

"What? Sombrero, sir, she's not ill."

"Yes she is. She was attacked last Friday."

"What?" Fred said once again. Venus. Attacked? She would have told him. He rushed into the hospital, despite the fact that Venus' father and Xenophilius were shouting at him to come back.

The receptionist asked him, "Who are you seeing?"

"Mrs Venus Weasley. I mean Venus McVee."

"Last dorm from the left, on ground level in the 'Amnesia' section. And may I ask who you are?"

Bloody hell. The woman was asking him who he was when his mind was full of information. Amnesia?

"Her boyfriend."

Fred ran to the Amnesia section. He winced as he could hear a corridor full of people shouting.

"Venus? Venus?"

"Help! I just…I remember being with my boyfriend, and now he's gone!" came an all too familiar voice from the last dorm from the left of the Amnesia section.

Fred slowly paced in, finding the Venus he didn't remember of. Her face was pale, and she looked completely crazy.

"Fred!" Venus cried. "Where are we?"

Fred croaked, "We're in hospital."

"What? What's that?"

Fred sat on her bed. "Venus, look at me, what's happened to you? What's wrong with you!"

Venus looked at him like _he_ was an alien, "Why I'm mad? I don't remember!"

Fred tried to keep her still, but she bit and scratched him. In the end, he tied her up with strings to the bed. "Venus, just…relax. I'm sorry."

But, as unusual unusual may be, Venus just stared at the ceiling. "One for me, one for you. One for me, one for you. One for me, one for you. One for me, one for you," she repeatedly said these 6 words over and over again, banging her head on the bed.

"Venus, please, just stop this. This pain. This agony," Fred begged her.

"Mrs. Venus Weasley. Mrs. Venus Weasley. Mrs. Venus Weasley. Mrs. Venus Weasley. Mrs. Venus Weasley," Fred began noticing a pattern. Venus was repeating the things she remembered that Christmas day. Would kissing her help? I mean, in those cliché books, the guy always kissed the girl and then they'd live happily ever after. Right?

Fred bent down, and planted his lips onto hers. Venus fell silent.

When he opened his eyes, her eyes were closed. Looking as if they were dead.

"Venus? Venus? Wake up!"

"Please don't leave me!"

Clutching the box of chocolates in his hands, Fred Avada Kedavra'd himself. What was the use of living, when no-one cared for you, and your lover had just gone?

xxx-xxx-xxx

Venus woke up. Where was she? And why was Fred on the floor? She looked around herself.

St. Mungo's? But…why was _she_ in St. Mungo's? In the Amnesia section? Amnesia!

But she saw Fred's opened wide eyes, and the paleness of his face.

"Oh, my…"

A few minutes later she killed herself too.

xxx-xxx-xxx

_**RIP**_

_Here lies the body of Fred Weasley_

_A witty brother_

_A father of a female bastard_

_And a loving boyfriend_

_Here lies the body of Venus McVee,_

_A dreamy step-sister_

_A mother of a female bastard_

_And a perfect girlfriend_

_Let them rest in peace, as their story is a tale is similar Romeo & Juliet, so tragic. _

_And let God Be With You All._

A tear slipped down George's cheek. "Oh brother, where are you now? Heaven? I hope so. Then you can go to Jokes Heaven, and tell me perfect jokes. And yes, I will look after Venus McVee II like my own daughter."

"I just wished I knew where you were," George said a few minutes later.

The box of chocolates Fred bought on Valentine's Day dropped down from the sky, a few seconds later.

George caught it. "Well, at least I know where you are. Let God Be With You on this Valentine's Day II. 15th February. This time 6 years ago, the book Quidditch Through the Ages you borrowed at due back today."

**A/N: How do you find it? I know it's a bit puzzly, but any questions, ask me!**


	4. Rose and Scorpius

**The Results of Having PMS**

**(Rose/Scorpius)**

**By Sadie's Sweet Padfoot **

* * *

**3:27 PM, February 12: Mood Swings**

"Excuse me….WHAT?"

Rose Weasley crossed her hands in an attempt to hide the terribly painful pounding in her chest that she knew was conspicuous beneath her grey Hogwarts sweater. She stood face to face with Duncan Finnegan, the handsome (yet simple) young Hufflepuff who she had the pleasure to call her boyfriend for the past eight months, two weeks, four days, twenty-two hours, sixteen minutes, and fifty-one seconds. Duncan shuffled his feet back and forth.

"I'm kinda in love with someone else," Duncan muttered.

Rose shook her head. "And you're telling me this now? Why? Why….wait…WHO?" Rose suddenly asked. She began pacing the floor in front of Duncan (which she always did when she wanted to think herself to death…it was a gene from her mother).

"Um," Duncan said. "I don't mean to hurt you."

"Well, Duncan, stop talking there and just forget about this…other woman!" Rose said, suddenly going from sad to downright pissed off. She was SOO not supposed to have this conversation! Not two days before the Valentine's Day ball! Not to mention, her monthly visitor was about to stop on by for the week, so it came at just peachy timing as well.

"That's just it," Duncan said. "She's not the other woman anymore…you are."

Rose looked like a deer in the headlights of the Hogwarts express. Duncan gulped.

"Well…we…I didn't have the guts to tell you…"

Rose didn't like where this was going. She bit her bottom lip. The rage was melting back into ultimate sadness. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Duncan continued without noticing Rose's extreme distress. That was the thing about Duncan, as handsome and sweet as he was, he wasn't the sharpest claw on the hippogriff.

"Molly and I have been going out for about a month already. She's just so…so beautiful," Duncan mooned. Rose stopped pacing, the anger coming back.

"Wait…who?" she asked with her squeaky watch-out-before-I-explode-all-over-you voice.

"Your cousin, Molly Weasley."

Rose thought she was going to puke all over Duncan (and the lad would've well deserved it too). "Molly?!" she shrieked. Then she asked the burning question: "What does Molly have that I don't?!"

Duncan sighed. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said again, stupidly.

"ANSWER ME!" Rose yelled. A few of the students wandering the hallways stopped curiously to have a look at the scene.

"Well, you're so smart, and you've got a great personality, but—"

"—BUT?!" Rose asked through gritted teeth.

"But Molly's so hot."

Worst. Answer. Possible.

Rose could feel the hormones scalding the insides of the arteries in her face, particularly around both the eyes and the forehead. She knew she was about to show the world the reason why her parents named her 'Rose'…she had been born so red one would've thought she was half-tomato.

But, rather than show her complete and utter heartbreak to the world, Rose grinned evilly and pulled out her wand, pointing it at Duncan's chest.

"_Impedimenta!"_

Duncan suddenly was hoisted into the air by his ankles. The spectator students rooted and cheered as she tortured him this way. As much as Duncan squirmed and begged for mercy, Rose wouldn't back down. She really needed to remember to send Teddy Lupin an owl to thank him for teaching her this little hex…

As the students cheered her on, Rose repeatedly yelled at him.

"She's hotter than me! Well, if you like it hot, then you two can just go BURN in HELL together, you smelly git!"

"Rose Nymphadora Weasley!" yelled a new voice to the scene. Rose winced and turned her head. Having broken concentration, Duncan fell to the floor head first.

Professor Neville Longbottom came upon the scene, looking sternly at Rose. "I would expect this from a first-year, but not from a N.E.W.T. student like yourself!"

"Professor—" Rose tried to explain.

"Detention. See me after supper," Professor Longbottom said strictly. Rose growled under her breath. Men…no matter how old they were, they were all the same!

"Yes sir," Rose said, nodding her head and turning to head back to her dormitory.

**9:42 PM February 12: Fatigue**

Professor Longbottom quickly put her to work in the greenhouse watering every last plant in all six greenhouses. Professor Longbottom had said that another student would be joining her shortly, but he failed to say who. For now, Rose was on her own.

That good for nothing loser, dumping her for her cousin, no less! Rose moaned to herself. She was sick and tired of all this drama! She was sixteen! What kind of sixteen year old witch had the curse of having to endure all this drama in school? Rose considered herself the most unlucky witch in England.

"Grab a watering can," Rose could hear Professor Longbottom instructing the other student who'd just arrived for detention. Rose didn't bother turning around. Her head could barely stay on her shoulders. She was so popped out, pretty soon she'd be watering herself to stay awake long enough to finish the detention.

Rose could hear two soft footsteps coming up behind her.

"Rose! Fancy seeing you here," said a medium-ranged, polite voice. Rose turned around to look Scorpius Malfoy in the face.

"What are you here for?" she asked as Scorpius took up his task beside her. "I thought you were the goody-goody boy everyone here loves so much?"

Scorpius turned red and shrugged. It was true. For a Slytherin, Scorpius sure had a sterling reputation. Though he had a tendency to be hot-headed, she definitely wasn't his father's son in all aspects.

"I set off a Dung near Longbottom's office this morning," he said bashfully. Rose nearly dropped her watering can.

"That was you?!"

"It's been me before, too, I just…well…let's just say the Sorting Hat didn't put me in Slytherin for nothing!" Scorpius said, going to water a mandrake that was writhing in the pot. Rose nodded wearily. "You okay?" asked Scorpius.

"Tired," Rose said. Scorpius nodded.

"I can see, the bags under your eyes look like they could be carrying hippogriff feed! What happened?"

"My boyfriend broke up with me for my cousin," Rose mumbled. "Laugh at me and you'll be eating your porridge through a pump in your stomach!"

"Am I laughing?" asked Scorpius, looking deep into Rose's eyes. She had pretty blue eyes, even if the bags underneath them were big enough to hold a Cornish pixie in each. Rose bit her lip and got back to work. "Must be pretty hard on you," Scorpius said sympathetically.

"Yeah, whatever," Rose muttered to herself.

"Am I to assume you're not going to the Valentine's Day Ball because of this?" Scorpius got up the nerve to ask a few seconds later.

"No."

"Have any plans at all?" asked Scorpius.

"No."

"You just going to go to bed early?" asked Scorpius.

"No! No! NO! You know what?" Rose said, suddenly slamming her watering can to the ground. "I'm tired of this! I'm skipping the rest of detention and going to bed, because I'm just too tired!"

Scorpius almost laughed at Rose's hissy-fit. "Tired of what?"

"Tired, tired, TIRED!!! I'm just TIRED!!!!" Rose insisted, storming out of the greenhouse like a four-year old after not getting her way.

Scorpius smiled amusedly to himself and silently got back to work without pursuing her.

**10:17AM, February 13: Cramps**

Rose turned over in bed and moaned loudly and melodramatically. Lily, sitting on the edge of the bed, rolled her eyes.

"Drama witch," she muttered.

"My OOOOOOVARIES!" Rose groaned, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes. Lily crossed her arms.

"You're just faking the agonizing cramps because Duncan dumped the daylights out of you yesterday, and you'll be the only upperclasswitch without a date tomorrow," Lily accused. Rose shot up in bed, her pain miraculously gone.

"I won't be the ONLY one!" Rose huffed quickly.

Lily shrugged. "You're right. Enid Hellman from Ravenclaw's not going either—"

"—the fifth year with the huge mole on her lip the size of a quarter?? The mole with HAIRS?? The mole that Professor Flitwick made _SPEAK_ that one time?!" Rose asked. Lily nodded. Rose collapsed on the bed.

"Ugh….someone give me something deep-fried and smothered in chocolate," Rose moaned. Lily had to swallow back a laugh.

"Sure, and I'll give you a heart attack and a side of stroke to go with it," Lily said. "Why don't you go with Dean Thomas Jr and I? Dean's a cool bloke."

"Because Duncan will be there with our EX-cousin, whore," Rose moaned. Lily rolled her eyes.

"I'll tell Uncle Percy you called his precious daughter a whore!" Lily threatened.

Rose sat up again and stared down her younger cousin, her lower teeth bared like a tiger ready to pounce. "Lily Luna Potter, I'm twenty-four hours away from my monthly subscription to Woman's Hell arriving. I could take Voldemort if your dad hadn't wasted him years ago."

Lily sighed. "Point taken."

"So it'll be me and an extra-credit Charms essay tomorrow night. "

"You'll still be getting Valentines from Al and me," Lily promised. "You won't go without, at least not totally without."

"Thanks," Rose said, sulking back onto the bed. "My two cousins are giving me those lovely cardboard Valentines one buys in a corner grocer's! The ones with cartoon characters that fold up with little stickers and say 'Be My Valentine' in the theme of whatever cartoon character was on the card! I hate my life."

"Hey, be fair! It's the thought that counts!" Lily groaned. She got to her feet. "Well, don't let me ruin your cramp-session."

"Piss off," Rose moaned, turning away from Lily as she went to go back to her room and tear up the Happy Hippogriff cardboard Valentine she wrote out for Rose that said "**Hope your Valentine's Day is high-flying fun!**"

**9:14PM, February 14: Cravings**

_The Patronus Charm, in it's full-bodied form, takes the shape of an animal the closely resembles the caster's personality. I have only been able to cast a sad attempt at a full-bodied Patronus, so the only thing I can describe it as…it something with more than four legs and a big nose. _

Rose slammed her quill into the inkwell, frustrated, and thought long and hard about what to say next. She was asked to write an exhausting two-scroll essay on her own personal Patronus Charm, the memories she used to cast it, and what animal her Patronus takes for N.E.W.T. Charms. So far she had two sentences.

_I thought maybe it was a squid or octopus, but they don't have noses, so it can't be either of those._

Three sentences.

"Mmm…"Rose muttered to herself. "I wonder if I can see if Lily keeps a cooler in her room?" Rose wanted nothing more than a huge salty…something. Sweet AND salty. Maybe a pickle dipped in chocolate. Or a peanut butter pretzel. Food was the only thing on her mind at the moment.

Rose got up and decided to take a little trip down to the common room. Maybe there was some food down there someone left behind.

Casually, she strode down the stairs that led to the common room.

"Hello Rose," said a familiar voice. Rose was surprised to see Scorpius Malfoy standing in the Gryffindor common room, holding a box of chocolates under his arm, dressed decently.

"Scorpius? How did you get in here?" Rose asked. "You're a Slytherin!"

Scorpius shrugged. "Lily left the Fat Lady painting open for me. I was coming in as she was coming out to go to the ball. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come with me…but I see you're not dressed for the occasion."

Rose looked down and realized, with embarrassment, that she was in her bright purple bath robe. Blushing, Rose turned quickly to go back upstairs, mumbling something about being sorry that she was in too much of a mood.

"We can just stay in here. I had the feeling you'd want these," Scorpius said, holding out the box of chocolate. Rose turned around.

"Why would you think that?"

Scorpius smiled. "Because you're single, and its Valentine's Day."

Rose gave Scorpius an odd and somewhat confused look. "How do you figure that?' she asked, a smile beginning to curl on the very edge of her lips.

"Because I'm single, and it's Valentine's Day," Scorpius answered. Rose's small, indifferent smile grew wider.

"So you decided to sneak into Gryffindor Tower and pity yourself over chocolate?" Rose asked, coming back down the stairs.

"Well, I was kind of HOPING you could….pity yourself with me and maybe eat the coconut ones? I hate those," Scorpius asked tentatively.

"I love the coconut ones!" Rose said. "Oh, and I get the cherry cream too!" She said, her mod suddenly changing, she scampered over to the sofa near the dark window. Scorpius joined her and unwrapped the chocolate box.

"Can't help you there," Scorpius said. "I get the cherry cream!" Rose pouted playfully and plucked a coconut truffle from the box Scorpius held out, and Scorpius took out the cherry cream. Scorpius then put the box aside and lifted his chocolate in the air. Rose looked confused.

"A toast!" Scorpius proposed. Rose rolled her eyes and raised her chocolate to meet his. "To chocolate!"

Rose giggled. "To being dumped!"

Scorpius sighed. "To the worst-turned-best Valentine's Day ever!"

Rose suddenly noticed the twinkle in his eyes, and she knew what she had to say next.

"To PMS!"


	5. Lily II and Scorpius

**A Rose for My Lily**

**(Lily II/Scorpius)**

**By SilverDrama **

* * *

"Here you go." A short second year said as he handed a bouquet of Lilies to the youngest Potter child.

Lillian Luna Potter smiled a bit as she accepted the flowers. No matter how involved she was with her boyfriend, the boys of Hogwarts insisted upon giving her flowers, usually Lilies. The problem with Lily was that for the past three years, each of her different boyfriends were of the many giving her Lilies.

Every year, Lily always found a bouquet of flowers on her bedside table in the early hours, always roses, always red. First year she had received twelve roses, every girl third year and up was jealous of her. Second year she received eight, third year she received six and her boyfriend breaking up with her over the flowers. In her forth year, she found four roses when she woke up. Every year, the flowers were always tied with a golf ribbon.

Lily was always a little awed by how she got less and less every year; it was something she could never understand.

"Hey squirt." A booming voice said as it sat down next to Lily for dinner.

Lily looked up and her hazel eyes met the green eyes of her brother. "Hey."

Albus Severus nodded a small courteous nod before talking to his friend Finn.

"Quite an extensive vocabulary you and your brother have there." Rose Weasley said from across the table.

Lily nodded a bit as she looked at the food deciding what to eat. "He still hasn't really forgiven me or Scorpius for beginning to date."

"Well, when his best mate started dating his little sister year and a half ago, it shocked him. He's still in denial."

Lily rolled her eyes. "He needs to get over it. It's not like I got mad when he started dating my friend."

"Lily, that's because you _tried_ to get Albus and Jasmine together and Albus is mad 'cause you're his baby sister. James was the same way before he left last year." Rose pointed out.

"Yeah, but James was being protective, Al is being a butt." Lily muttered.

Rose giggled. "Nice vocabulary you have there."

Lily threw a biscuit at Rose.

"Hey Hugo," Lily said as he walked into the common room late. "Do you know where Rose is?"

Hugo shook his head before dragging himself up the stairs.

"That helped." Lily muttered under breath before walking up the staircase to the girls' dormitories to see if Rose was in her room.

"Hey Rose." Lily said as she walked into the seventh year girls' dorm. It was pretty empty; two of Rose's roommates were out on dates, one was studying, and the last was sleeping.

"Hey Lily, what do you want?" Rose said in calm voice as she looked up from her book.

Lily shrugged. "How do you know when you're in love?" She softly said.

Rose's face immediately filled with emotions. "What?" She asked.

"Well, I know you've fallen in love, so how do you know it's real?"

Rose sighed a bit but still kept a smile on her face. "Well, you never want to leave his side; you feel empty without him and strong when you're near him. And he does things for you that make you feel special."

"-Like the Roses." Lily muttered.

"What?" Rose said as she stopped listing signs of true love.

"Every year, you know this, I get roses, and the number dwindles every year that always made me feel special." Lily said as she began to wonder about her relationship.

Rose's eyes widened. She didn't want her cousin to ruin a relationship with some small thing. "So does Scorpius, he notices when you work on your hair, he helps you with homework, and he visited you in the hospital wing when you fell off your broom. He's perfect for you." Rose said.

"But he doesn't make me feel as special as this guy who gets me flowers. Scorpius is there, but this guy, he gives me flowers EVERY year, he never forgets, and absolutely none of my dorm mates know who he is, and trust me, I've slipped them Veritteserum a few times just to see if they were lying. He sneaks probably into the Gryffindor Tower and up the girls' staircase _every_ Valentine's Day. Scorpius has never done that." Lily said before she began walking out the door.

"Lily," Rose said to her cousin before she went out of sight, "Don't forget, Scorpius has always been there for you."

Lily kept walking through Rose's comment until she reached her own dorm. It was silent and black, which was how she wanted it, she wanted to think.

_Scorpius has always been there._

**But this guy with roses makes you feel better.**

_But you don't even know him, and who ever said you loved him, you just aren't sure if you love Scorpius._

**But you don't love Scorpius.**

_ Yes you do._

**No you don't.**

_Yes you do._

**No you don't.**

"SHUT UP!" Lily yelled.

"No one's talking Lily." Jasmine Deveraux said from the bed next to Lily, trying to fall back into her slumber.

"The voices in my head were arguing." Lily said trying to explain herself.

"Lily, this has got to be some odd form of Schizophrenia, but can it wait until tomorrow." Jasmine asked.

Without an answer Jasmine was fast asleep, though considering it was 2 A.M., Lily couldn't blame her.

As Lily continued thinking about Scorpius and the "Rose guy" she fell asleep and was woken up at seven-thirty.

"Lily, wake up."

"Now who's talking Jasmine?" Lily mocked as she woke up from her five hour sleep.

"Whatever, but it's Valentine's Day and there hasn't been a Valentine's Day that your cousin Fred has been here that there wasn't some poor girl who got stocked and has a banner of her and him hung up. And you know how the Professors always take it down after a while."

"Fine." Lily said as she grumbled out of bed.

"You look tired." Jasmine said.

"Not really," Lily said, "I'm tired, but wide awake." This was true.

Lily went to pick her wand up from her bedside table and saw a box of chocolates and a Rose.

"Aww, how sweet." Jasmine said as Lily opened the box of chocolates to take out a caramel and found a white envelope addressed to her on top.

**_Vous êtes mon tout _**

_You are everything I ever wanted.__  
__On you my future happiness depends._  
_Unless I'm with you all my thoughts are haunted._  
_After seeing you, my unease ends._  
_Reason warns me that I am in danger:_  
_Eventually, everything must fade._  
_My love, like yours, is flammable in anger._  
_Yet my trust is such, I'm not afraid._  
_Something in our love's more than emotion,_  
_Underneath each thought and each desire;_  
_Not even all the water in the ocean_  
_Seems up to putting out this one small fire._  
_How could this be? Within our love is something_  
_Immeasurable, infinite, and good._  
_Nothing in all life can match this one thing_  
_Each other passion would be, if it could.  
--  
__Vous et Moi ensemble à jamais_

Was written inside the card.

"How sweet. You're 'Rose guy' is very sweet…and a little stalkerish for someone who's taken." Jasmine said as she glanced at the poem once more. "If you find out who he is, tell him I'm free." Jasmine said as she headed for the great Hall.

Lily put the note back in the box and grabbed it as she walked to the great Hall. Over breakfast, Fred II finally got a date out of one of his stalker victims, Albus and Jasmine kissed and talked, Rose was trying to calm Lily, and Lily was eating her sweets down to the last one.

"Lily, what's this?" Jasmine asked as she held up the poem.

"Jasmine, you better not have short-term memory loss, that's the poem-" Lily was cut off.

"Not the poem you idiot, this." Jasmine said pointing to a note on the back that said:

_Meet me at the Clock Tower Courtyard after breakfast_

"The 'Rose guy' wants to meet me." Lily said as she looked up from the paper.

"Ask him for more chocolates when you meet him." Jasmine said as she ate one of the chocolates she had hoarded.

"I will not, I first need to figure out who I love." Lily complained.

Rose sighed, "Lily, you're confused, yet still in love. I've known you since _forever_. You told me more than you tell Al, and I can tell you love him, but you're scared. I can also tell that you want to know who the 'Rose guy' is. So meet the 'Rose guy' and tell him to stop stalking you. Simple as that." Rose said.

Lily stared and blinked at her. "You're,"

"A genius?" Rose finished with a smile.

"No comment." Lily said as she finished her breakfast.

**---**

Lily walked out to the Clock Tower Courtyard. It was empty, except a person she had seen so much. His blonde hair glinted across his silver eyes as he held out a flower, a rose, nonetheless, identical to the one in her dorm.

"A Rose for my Lily?" Scorpius Malfoy asked as he held out the single Rose.

Lily smiled and took the Rose from his hand to reveal a red tiny jewelry box. She took the box and opened it. There was a ring inside of it. Lily was no fool, she knew that rings normally meant marriage, but she was only fifteen, and he seventeen.

"What's this supposed to mean?" She asked.

Scorpius chuckled. "Anything you want it to be. I'm not asking for your hand in marriage, I just saw the ring and it was screaming 'LILY'." Scorpius said.

Lily giggled as she leaned in to kiss him. That's how they were for the next ten minutes until they broke apart for air.

Out of breath, Scorpius connected his silver eyes to Lily's hazel. "Is there anything else you want for Valentine's Day my little Lily?" Scorpius asked as he draped his arm around her shoulder.

"Yeah," Lily said and she and Scorpius looked at each other. Containing her laughter, "I want another box of chocolates."


	6. Roger and Leeane

**A Chocolate Filled Holiday**

**(Roger/Leeane)**

**By NickyFox13 **

* * *

Leanne was never the type of girl to enjoy Valentine's day, nor would she ever willingly celebrate the so called holiday. She never liked that the whole point of the holiday was to say "I love you" with a cheap box of chocolates, flowers picked quickly from Hargrid's garden and a card that had a corny saying written inside the card. Maybe it was a good idea to dedicate a day to celebrate being a couple, but Leanne never had a boyfriend so it would never matter to her that there was a day celebrating couples. However, she did not care that she did not have a boyfriend as she was only fifteen years old and boys were never much of interest to her. Being shy had also changed her thoughts of guys. 

Shyness was a definite downfall to trying to get a boyfriend, as she learned when her bold friend Angelina Johnson tried to set her up with an equally shy Hufflepuff named Samuel Hamilton. After the disastrous date, Samuel and Leanne remained friends although the memories of the date remained. Samuel was a whole other story that did not need to be.

Her friend Alicia Spinnet had always told Leanne to loosen up just for once and to at least try to enjoy the holiday, even if she did not have a boyfriend. Leanne had retorted that Valentine's day was a useless holiday.

"Despite your shyness, you have _got_ to admit you _are _pretty," Alicia would say dramatically, although Leanne would only partially agree. Leanne liked her dark brown, shoulder length, wavy hair, but thought her hazel eyes were incredibly plain. Her oval shaped face and freckles made her look as if she was thirteen and not fifteen.

But Leanne couldn't enjoy the holiday this year, as rumor had it that a psycho serial killer had broken out of Azkaban and was after Harry Potter, the third year Gryffindor and the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. She would not let her guard down just for some stupid, meaningless holiday when a deranged killer was allegedly after a fellow school-mate and could be roaming the castle right now! Although it was highly impossible, he could kill _her. _But Leanne banished the thought almost as soon as it came

Her stomach was rumbling loudly, it was Leanne's body's way of saying 'time for lunch'. She took her time to walk to the Great Hall, as she had a feeling she was early for lunch. Suddenly, without knowing it, Leanne had run into a person, tall and definitely male. She looked up, her hazel eyes meeting his blue eyes, black hair falling above his eyes. She recognized him to be Roger Davies of the Ravenclaw House. He was also a Chaser on the Quidditch team, according to her friend Katie.

"I didn't mean to bump into you. I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking and--"

"It's all right, no need to apologize." He smiled, making Leanne somewhat nervous. She was terribly timid and was never confident with her socializing skills.

_He seems...nice. I should make a note to talk to him more. _

"I'll see you later then?" Roger asked. If the girl had not known it, the confident boy sounded almost nervous.

"Sure!" Leanne replied with a small grin on her face.

Walking to the Great Hall, Leanne saw a glint of red from across the room. It was Fred (or George? She, sadly after knowing them for four years, could not tell Fred apart from George) Weasley, the infamous red haired and the resident Gryffindor prankster, along with his brother George. She easily recognized the Weasleys by their bright red hair. Leanne saw two sets of black hair, a set of golden brown hair and a set of plain brown hair. How those heads stood out would forever remain a mystery. They were the heads of Oliver Wood, Katie Bell, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet. She sat at the table, not paying attention to the conversations going around her. Leanne then looked over at the Ravenclaw table to see Roger with a gaggle of friends, looking confident as ever.

_Why am I looking at him? I barely even know him!_

"...And that's how I got Percy to admit that wearing plaid pants and a shirt would be a horrible idea," Katie, a friend of Leanne's with golden brown hair and brown eyes, explained triumphantly. Leanne had just started paying attention to the conversation and Katie gave Leanne a look that said "Oh yeah, look how great I am!"

"Why exactly would you be proud of that, Katie?" Angelina asked dryly, taking a bite out of her meal.

"Because it's _Percy!_ He _never_ admits to being wrong. It's an accomplishment to have him agree with you, much less admit his ideas were wrong," Katie said with a bit of unhealthy enthusiasm. She smiled smugly, knowing she was right.

"Well, whatever helps you sleep at night, I guess..." Angelina muttered.

"Leanne, hello! How are you doing this fine morning?" Fred asked the brown haired girl happily, even though Leanne had been sitting at the lunch table for about two minutes .

"I'm fine. Now what were you talking about that involved Percy and plaid pants?" She replied, and leaned in closer to listen to Katie's tall tale. Angelina grimaced and braced herself for yet another retelling of the story that had taken place well over a month ago. Alicia, Fred, George and, surprisingly enough, the Quidditch captain Oliver Wood, listened to Katie's story with great enthusiasm. Leanne looked nervous from the general, scary high interest of Katie's story.

"It all began in the common room with me, Fred, George and Ginny, the little sister of Fred and George, exactly one month and a week ago today..."

_

* * *

_February 14, Valentine's day, had unfortunately arrived. All down the corridors was decorations of pink and red hearts, with daisy chains of pastel colors along the high ceilings. Leanne would never know why people would celebrate it, but that would remain a mystery. She had to get to Potions class, but it was not until much later, so she took the time to explore the castle to see what the decorations would look like. She stopped to look at a picture, one she had not seen before today.

"So I can tell you hate Valentine's day as much as I think you would," a voice murmured in Leanne's ear, startling the dark haired girl. It was Roger, who had somehow found Leanne through the mass of crowds of students and sappy couples flirting in the corridors.

_How did Roger find me so easily? _This was the only thought that ran through Leanne's head, but

Roger put his arm on her shoulder and the only thing that mattered that someone else was sane on Valentine's day and that was all that mattered to Leanne.

The two had walked and chatted, only to be interrupted by Leanne needing to go to the Gryffindor tower to retrieve her Potions textbook. She waved happily at Roger, who smiled and waved back..

"We _need_ to do something together. You have to promise me we will do that. Okay?" Roger yelled as Leanne sprinted towards the Gryffindor tower. Roger would have followed, but being a Ravenclaw, he would get in a lot of trouble if he followed a Gryffindor female to her respective House tower. The girl smiled broadly, indicating an agreement.

* * *

She went into her dorm, where she slept with Katie, Angelina, Alicia and another girl Leanne was friendly with whose name was Stacy Lark. Although Stacy and Leanne were only acquaintances, Leanne thought Stacy was a sweet girl. 

The brown haired girl looked on her bed only to see a box of chocolates, with a note attached to the box. She had no idea as to how it got there, unless a girl gave it to her, although Leanne would not imagine why any of her friends would give her chocolates.

The note read:

_**Leanne:**_

_**Happy Valentine's day, even if you do not believe in it. I bought you some chocolates and I hope you enjoy them. They are your favorite, chocolate covered and filled with caramel.**_

_**From, **_

_**R.D. **_

_**P.S., No need to thank me, I **_**know ****_I'm great._**

Leanne smiled as she recognized the initials.

_There has got to be a reason as to why I really like this guy...this has to be one of them._


	7. Remus and Lily

**Altogether Too Much of Him**

**(Remus/Lily)**

**By BonniDolle **

* * *

"So… I guess this is the last one." It wasn't a question. 

"Only if you want it to be." Her voice pleaded with him, implored him to stay.

"I don't."

"Then stay! For God's sake, Remus, it's not difficult!"

"We've been over this before."

"Let's go over it again, shall we?" Her face was set, her voice harsh and stubborn in the warm glow of the common room fireplace.

"Lily Evans, shall I give you my head on a stick _now_, or wait for James to rip it off when he finds out about us?"

"That depends… can I keep it?"

"Keep what?"

"Your head, silly!"

"And why would you want to do that?"

"Well, it's such a beautiful head, you see…" Her eyes were wide and the firelight glimmered in her pupils. He saw no sarcasm there.

"You think altogether too highly of me, you know." He murmured the words into her hair, cheek pressed lightly to hers and savouring the bittersweet smell of her soft, auburn locks …

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

"Or so they say…" A comfortable silence ensued.

"Dance with me."

"What?"

"Dance with me!" At this, she sprung from his lap and attempted to haul him to his feet.

"Why?"

"What, now I need a _reason_ to love you?" Then she pulled him from the chair and proceeded to manoeuvre him around to the sound of late-night nothing.

_**-x-**_

"You never told me you could dance, Remus."

"You never asked." She giggled, and snuggled further into his arms. They had the spent the night dancing, collapsing into the nearest armchair only when the first peals of thunder echoed ominously beyond the castle walls. Rain beat against the windows, an appropriate lullaby indeed for the last day and night of freedom.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed his suspicions; it was now, officially, Valentine's Day.

3:27am, Monday 14th February 1977.

He wasn't sure quiet how the doomed hours had slipped away, but thought it probably had something to do with the beauty this eye beheld in the form of one Lily Evans hugging him through the night… or maybe it was her comforting warmth, the reassuring weight of her head upon his shoulder as they twirled and spun about, dancing through the common room and laughing, swaying before the fire as precious minutes slipped through their fingers like sand through an hourglass. They were moments not wasted though, for the look of adoration upon her face ensured that he could've died on the spot and died a happy man in her arms.

Now they lay in the arm chair of previous hours, happy and warm, and content at last beneath a heavy woollen blanket, hastily pulled from the neighbouring settee at the first sign of her shivers. He felt hot tears dripping onto his scarred arms, salty, guilty tears, shed over something-yet-nothing-but-everything.

"_Hey_, don't cry on me," he whispered, burning droplets forming in his own eyes as he spoke. She sniffled and blinked them back, smiling weakly and looking up at him with something akin to reverence in her gaze.

"Oh, got something for you here," she said, leaning over the arm of the chair and rummaging in her bag. A few seconds of enthusiastic scrabbling and a couple of rather suspicious sounding noises ("Have you got some _alive_ in there, Lils?") later, a slightly battered looking heart-shaped box of chocolates emerged from the much-abused sack of weird-yet-wonderful sounds and cocoa-based products…

"Something else for me to rot my teeth on asides from you?" he teased gently.

"You romantic old fool," she muttered fondly, settling back under the blanket and pulling his arm tighter around her.

"I concur with that assessment, you gullible old dreamer…"

"I don't know about _gullible_, Remus!" A self-mocking smile waltzed across her lips, exquisite in its peacefulness and charm.

"Make it 'open-minded' then, for the sake of political correctness," he conceded.

"That's more like it."

_**-x-**_

Dawn was breaking as their eyes next flickered open, the first grey tendrils stealing across the dusky, ebony sky and seeping into the darkened room.

With a horrible feeling of déjà vu, Remus glanced at the clock once again: 6:08am.

"Lily!" His hushed whisper carried through the empty space like a curse into oblivion, blunt daggers cutting through the air and quivering silently as they came to rest in the opposite wall. For a long, tense moment, the sound of Lily's breathing was woefully absent, then she exhaled into a deep sigh and the world began to turn again.

"Lily? Lily, wake up you ass!" She began to stir.

"Who you callin' an ass?" she yawned. He rolled his eyes.

"You, now wake up. The others will probably be getting up soon, you know."

"'S cold though…" The blanket had fallen off in the night, perhaps the result of some tormented dream lashing out in its quiet fear, or maybe a curious rat scurrying through and stopping to nibble and the worn edges, scampering away in fright as a soft snore echoed through the night; accidentally dragging away the object of its curiosities on catching claws… or maybe gravity just did its job.

"C'mon Lily, James'll be down here soon! I thought we agreed that today was the day?"

"It is…" she admitted reluctantly. She did not think it fair to increase his burden by prolonging this predicament of his.

_**-x-**_

"_Lily?"_

"_Yes?" She looked up at him, an innocent expectancy in her eyes and smile on her face._

"_Lily… Lily, we've got to stop this. Now."_

"_Stop what? When?" Her expression was now one of doomed hopefulness._

"_Us. Now… soon." Dread._

"Why_, though?" Confusion. Panic. Hysteria._

"_Well… James--" Anger._

"_I should've known… carry on then. I might as well hear it." Resignation._

"_He… he's going to ask you out on Valentine's Day, you see, and I don't think I can stand up to it… I can't stand there and watch you reject him, knowing what I know, then go back to him later, you know?" Pity. She bit her lip, silent tears spilling over and trickling down her face as she deliberated._

"_I understand. I think…"_

"_That's… that's good. But Lily; promise me you'll still understand come Valentine's Day?"_

"_I'll try."_

"_Promise me, Lily! Please?"_

"_I don't think I can, Remus."_

"_It's for the best; you know that, right?" Wrong thing to say._

"_For the _bestNone_ of this is for the best! If this was for the best, things would be working out right now…" The tears threatened to overwhelm, frenzied hiccups shuddering through her and her body racked with sobs._

"_And they're not, I know."_

"_But we don't have to just… stop. Do we? Until the day…at least… surely it can't make much of a difference?"_

"_It makes all the difference in the world, Lily, now stay with me…"_


	8. Petunia and James

**Her Sister's Man**

**(Petunia/James)**

**By Cuban Sombrero Gal**

* * *

Lily brings James back home for Valentine's Day, with that ring glittering on her finger. It pains Petunia, and not just because of the way the sunlight reflects off the diamonds (he must be rich, Petunia thinks, and she's jealous, because Vernon's rich too, and he certainly wouldn't buy her a diamond ring, no matter how much he loved her) and burns her eyes. Petunia thinks it's not just the ring though, it's Lily. She's showing it off, which casual waves of the hand that are so obviously manufactured. Showing it off, just like she showed off all those years ago at Christmas time, with her _oh so perfect_handstands and her _oh so perfect _smile. 

"We're having a June wedding," Lily announces happily at the dinner table that night, through a mouthful of chicken and rice. Mr. Evans gives his daughter a wayward glance, but says nothing about her manners. "I've always wanted to get married barefoot, amongst the sunflowers."

Petunia cannot help but scoff at that one; the thought of Lily's bright red hair clashing with her stupid yellow flowers is hilarious.

"Hippy," she mutters. "Stupid wedding, stupid girl, stupid everything." It is such a childish comment, the sort of comeback an eight year would giggle at for hours, and yet it makes Petunia feel so much better.

James, who is sitting to her left, is the only one who hears her comment, and Petunia can almost feel his body shaking beside her as he chokes on a mouthful of potato.

"Petunia," he says, "That's not nice."

"What's not nice?" Lily asks, eyebrows receding into her hair as she spoke.

"Oh, Petunia just said she wanted to design her own bridesmaid dress because she doesn't want to end up in robes."

Petunia turns her head to glance curiously at him, wishing that his true intentions were clear. Everything should be clean and crystal, she thinks, definitely not murky and hard to see through.

"I'm not sure, Petunia," she says. "I was kind of wanting Mary to be the bridesmaid."

"You do," James says. "Isn't she going off to America with Remus?"

"She was," Lily replies, "but Remus is staying obviously, so she changed her mind."  
Who the hell Remus and Mary were, Petunia didn't have a clue, but … _how could they? How could they do this to her? _

"It's because I don't belong to your world, isn't it?" Petunia asks curtly, her voice far more livid than she expects it to be, and it scares her, because she's always been rational and it feels like she's about to lose control.

"Of course not Petunia," Lily says, and Petunia studies her face intently for any sign of a lie. "It's just … Mary is my best friend, and she's the first person that found out after James proposed, except for the family and I … I kind of promised her."

Everyone stares at Lily, leaving Petunia to quickly wipe her face on a napkin and hide the stray tears that fell from her eyes like raindrops. Why can't Vernon be here? He would have been attacking Lily ferociously with words by now, sticking up for her, protecting his beautiful girlfriend. Damn Grunnings.

"Look," Mrs. Evans suggests gently, "why don't you make both Petunia and Mary your bridesmaids?" It is a half-hearted attempt to cheer her oldest daughter up, Petunia is sure, because there were some things you couldn't hide from a mother, and sadness was one of them, no matter how many times you scrubbed the tearstains from your face.

Petunia nods, and Lily does too, both of them refusing to look at each other. Regret and anger hang above the table like storm clouds; Lily and Petunia are drowning in it all, but they both fight to stay afloat and be the first to find shelter.

The rest of the meal continues in silence, broken only occasionally by a grunt from Mr. Evans as he chews a particularly tough piece of meat or a sigh from Mrs. Evans as she watches her daughters, one from the corner of each eye. As the sound of forks clattering against empty plates fills the air, James stands up, towering over Petunia and Lily, who are sitting either side of him.

'"Happy Valentine's Day Lily," he says, bowing before presenting her with a bouquet of roses, all tied with a perfect pink ribbon that clashes with their bright red petals. It's all so cliché and horrid, but Lily's face is so full of adoration, that Petunia thinks she better not mention it. A stray thought crosses her mind; she wants James to give her roses too, red ones, because everyone knows that red stands for passion and romance and 'I love you.'

"I love you too."

There's kissing and applause and Petunia just wants to die, until Lily excuses herself to have a shower and her parents head off to watch television, leaving Petunia and James, alone except for the spotless, pearly white fridge and the numerous jars of coffee, sugar and tea.

"Look," James said, leaning casually against the cupboards, body splayed at a funny angle and hands waving about his face, "I didn't know Lily wanted that. I don't agree, but I love her, and I think we've had enough fights to last a lifetime. I don't exactly want certain parts of my anatomy – I'm sure you can guess what, and if not, well that's kind of sad - to suffer again."

"Don't worry about it." Petunia's voice is distant, controlled; there's no sign of the emotion that threatened to take hold during the meal.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Lily's my sister, and I just want her to be happy."

It's true, that's exactly what she wants. But Petunia wants Lily to be happy without James, and now she's confused, because she's got Vernon, and he's exactly what she always wanted – sturdy, reliable and flattering – so why is she suddenly thinking this about James? Love cannot just pop up like this and shout "Surprise," it's against the laws of nature, and why is she using the word 'love' anyway? Nothing's going on, nothing whatsoever.

"Anyway, Petunia, Happy Valentine's Day."

James stuffs a box of chocolates into her hand, obviously torn between being polite or scurrying away to celebrate the holiday with Lily. She looks down to see a box of chocolates, adorned with a bright yellow ribbon. Yellow: the colour of friendship, not of love. He's always going to be her sister's man, and this just proves it.

"Thanks James," she stutters; a trace of sadness is evident in her voice but she subdues it, because he's Lily's, everything is always Lily's, and nothing will ever change that. "Thanks."

**---**

The next day, Vernon gives her a box of chocolates and a sloppy kiss. She mumbles a thankyou and it's all she can do not to burst into tears again.


	9. Neville and Ginny

**Symbiotic Fool**

**(Neville/Ginny)**

**By Sandshrew777 **

* * *

They say that love is a fickle thing. It doesn't always know what it wants, but it knows what it doesn't want, and so it rejects those things with a forcefulness unrivaled by anything the world can create. Love, therefore, is stronger than a Hippogriff's trampling hooves, a giant's monstrous fists, and a Nundu's deadly breath. 

It was upon recognizing those qualities that I decided, quite simply, that love was not something I wished to pursue actively. To me, love did not seem like a wondrous thing to embrace, but, rather, a horrible fate to be avoided at all costs. Love may be fragile, I knew, but it could break my heart.

With that philosophy in mind, I boarded the Hogwarts Express on that first day and never looked back. It wasn't as if I didn't like my family, but I realized that they were too stifling, too pigeon-holing, too "When you get done at Hogwarts you can go work for your father at the shop!", and I couldn't stand that, wouldn't stand that. Did anybody bother to ask me what I wanted to do with my life? Of course not. So I rejected the love of my family, seeing them only as helpful, useful allies, and began what should have been a jubilant train ride full of apprehension and barely-contained excitement with self-inflicted loneliness.

The hours passed with remarkable alacrity, considering my desolation. They should have taken forever, but Fate seemed to take pity on me, what with my remarkable skill in torturing myself, and made the train ride go all that faster.

Of course, it didn't hurt that my toad, Trevor, got loose. He always seemed anxious to leave my company in those early days, and despite my early efforts to contain him, he succeeded valiantly. After a while I stopped restricting him, remembering how my family had limited me, and we were both the happier for it.

My desolation was only interrupted by the appearance of some frizzy-haired, buck-toothed, wild-looking girl who introduced herself in seven long-winded sentences without stopping to take a breath. She looked like she needed something to do, so I informed her that my toad was missing and it would be nice if she could keep an eye out for it. Almost immediately she grilled me on Trevor's appearance and mannerisms, as if he were a wanted criminal and she was the investigator assigned to the case. I did my best and she seemed to be satisfied, moving out to scour the train post-haste. I didn't bother mimicking her actions; Trevor would come back to me when he needed to so that he could advance to Hogwarts. I was his ally, and he needed transportation out of me; I was willing to oblige.

The thought of disembarking and floating across the lake failed to impress me. I had seen pictures, read accounts of what was to come, and as such I was not really all that intimidated by anything. Besides, I had Trevor with me (the large man leading the boat brigade, Hagrid, had returned him to my care; I was relieved only because Trevor represented responsibility to me, and if I couldn't return in June with him safe and alive, I would never receive another boon from my familial allies again, and then of what use would they be to me?)

Thus, feeling quite prepared for just about anything and everything, I proceeded to my Sorting with confidence. It was obvious to me where I was going; I wasn't brave, wasn't smart, and I wasn't a Death Eater. The House of the Badger was to be mine, of that I was sure.

But the Hat seemed to think otherwise.

"Well, what do we have here? Not too bad upstairs, but you're not the type to read books for pleasure, are you? No, no, surely not. An acknowledgment of necessary resources, yes, indeed, but not enough drive to carry them out. There's certainly an argument to be made for Hufflepuff, though. Quite the hard worker when it comes to things you want, you are, Mr. Longbottom, and you're not afraid to stand up for the right way of things. That's admirable, indeed.

"But Hogwarts is a time to grow and learn, and I see something within you that I feel needs a little sunshine to help it grow. Yes, I think this is the best place for you, in the grand scheme of things.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the Hat shouted at last.

I was so surprised that I forgot to take the Hat off of my head, but the entire room was kind enough to inform me of the fact, and so I quickly performed the necessary duty and found my seat with the Gryffindors. So much for Fate being on my side, I morosely conjectured at the time. How in the world was I ever going to fit in with a bunch of impulse-driven, plan-less, boisterous louts?

The answer was that I never truly did. Much of my time at Hogwarts was spent being downtrodden, which, really, was okay. Somebody had to be the bullied, and it might as well be me, because I can take it (and I even dished it back out, once or twice, but usually I kept that to a minimum, because when you make a name for yourself somebody always wants to tear it down). Some other people can't take being brutally teased like that, though, and if I could save them from the humiliating fate of hopping around the castle in a Leg-Locker Curse or nearly being eaten by a humungous three-headed dog, then I would do it, and do it with pride. People like the underdog, they root for him, I thought to myself during every embarrassing moment; therefore they would be more apt to give me aid when the difficult times arose.

As usual, my logic was infallible. When the time for exams came, people came to me with questions about Herbology, and I, in turn, received aid from my Housemates in Transfiguration and Potions. We never became a family, not really, just another group of allies thrust together because of trying circumstances, soon to disband when the threat of exams dissolved.

The years passed with relatively little incident. Although my Second Year was littered with mutterings about the Heir of Slytherin and that perhaps Harry was the one Petrifying all the students, I found myself strangely removed from the fear they purported.

First of all, I was a Pure-blood, and so the chances that the Heir of Slytherin would strike me were slim to none, even if was Malfoy. As I look back now on those days, I realize that Malfoy picked on me (and Harry, Ron, and Hermione as well) only because he was afraid of me. I was a Pure-blood (and so was Ron, even if he was a "blood traitor", as Malfoy put it), and so I was competition, in his eyes, for the Pure-blood girls of the school (Pansy was ugly, Ginny was hung-up on hero-worshipping Harry, Morag was a bit stuck-up, et cetera); how foolish and oddly prophetic he was, thinking that I would be interested in love! Hermione, of course, represented his most hated academic rival, and Harry was the epitome of goodness that he had been, I assumed, trained to either acquire as a subordinate or despise with all of his power. Malfoy chose the latter, the fool that he was, and it took him years to attempt to undo his choice. I pity the child that he was, now that I can see where it's gotten him.

Secondly, while I didn't know who the Heir was, I knew it wasn't Harry. Yes, he was a Parselmouth, but that didn't matter to me. I talk to my plants (it's a good thing, actually, as all Muggle plants and most Magical plants use carbon dioxide as a reactant in their form of cellular respiration instead of a product, so exhaling our carbon dioxide onto them actually helps them grow and produce oxygen; it's a symbiotic effect that I find fascinating), and nobody scorns me because of it. It's just another talent that Harry accumulated in his repertoire, and I don't fault him for wanting to hide that weapon. Even if it is helpful, I admit that it's still rather creepy.

Finally, I had this awkward feeling---if I had asked Lavender or Parvati, they would have instantly proclaimed that I had the Sight and I would never have lived that down, so of course I never mentioned it---that Fate was interfering, once again, on our part. The last time the Monster of Slytherin was released, it killed somebody: Moaning Myrtle. This time around, each new victim ended up Petrified, through one circumstance or another, and as each one rolled into the Hospital Wing, I felt more and more confident that Fate was smiling on us.

For my part, I was one of the students hand-picked by Professor Sprout to help harvest the Mandrakes. Although I'd had a bit of an accident with my earmuffs the first day (I'd never worn a pair in my life before, and I don't accomodate well to new things without having any previous knowledge of them), I showed remarkable acuity (her words, not mine) in the handling of even the most temperamental specimens, especially for a Second Year. Under her tutelage I learned a great many things that I pass down onto my charges today, but mainly her constant advice: "Mind the Venomous Tentacula, he's teething." There were always plants around the greenhouses that seemed almost sentient, but instead of being nefarious or harmful, they really just wanted to be tended to, like young children when they cry their heads off and you just want to strangle them because it's the most grating sound you'll ever hear in your lifetime. In essence, Professor Sprout wanted to teach her students that understanding was a knowledge no book could ever teach, and that sometimes you just had to get your hands dirty to learn it.

Even with that, Second Year flew past in a rush, and before I knew it, Third Year was upon me and so were the elective classes. Care of Magical Creatures sounded like an interesting concept, seeing as it would be a more active application of what I was learning in Herbology, and although I found that Divination was a bit of a crock, I did want to test out whether or not I had any aptitude in determining Fate's whims. I probably should have dropped the class after the whole teacup incident---I can't handle fragile things.

Third Year was much of the same regarding most things, though. I was still tortured by the Slytherins and Professor Snape, still helped Professor Sprout with the rest of the Herbology Club in the greenhouses, and still found myself uninterested by the House mumblings.

This time, it was rumors about Sirius Black that were abound, and I found myself not caring all that much, even after the whole incident with Ron's curtains. Black was after Harry, not me, and my bed was the furthest from Harry's in the room, so I probably wasn't going to have to worry about Black leaping in and holding me hostage at knifepoint (or wandpoint, if he procured a new one) or something ridiculous like that.

When Fourth Year brought the Triwizard Tournament to Hogwarts, I found myself in the midst of the typical teenage tribulations. The pretty Beauxbatons girls and rugged Durmstang boys seemed to jack the hormones in our House up through the roof. For a time, I wondered if Ron might be bisexual, given his fascination with Viktor Krum, but then I heard about the fracas between him and Hermione and suddenly it all made sense. How funny it would have been for me to inform Ron that he was acting just like Malfoy, at the time, jealous of competition that really didn't matter.

The announcement of the Yule Ball came of little surprise to me, having remembered from accounts of the Tournament from my allies back at home. I really hadn't planned on attending, until one day in the Gryffindor Common Room changed all that.

"Hey, Neville," Ginny greeted me, holding her Herbology work in her hands, "I've got no idea what all of these herbs are supposed to do for the fertilizer, and Sprout's got a big exam tomorrow. Can you help me out?" she asked.

"Sure thing. Take a seat," I offered, and she plopped down in one of the empty chairs at the table, heaving her things haphazardly around, trying to locate a list Professor Sprout had given for her to memorize. She found it after scouring through the crumpled parchment lodged every whichway in the text and handed it to me.

"This isn't too bad. There's some memory tricks you can do with these, actually, that makes it a lot easier," I confided. She gave me an thoughtful look.

"You use memory tricks for Herbology?" she echoed.

"Yeah," I replied, nodding, "Most of the herbs are really similar when you look at them, at first, and even once you've got the names sorted out, a lot of their properties are the same, so it's kinda hard without the tricks. I think they're called mnemonics, or something," I rambled. Ginny continued to give me that thoughtful look.

"So why don't you use them for remembering the password and stuff?" she asked, and seemed genuinely concerned. I shrugged.

"I guess I just never thought of it," I admitted, then returned to the list of herbs. "Okay, so basil. This one's a Muggle one, and probably the easiest way to remember it is to look at the stem..." I started.

We spent about a whole hour going over the herbs and my tricks for remembering them until Ginny could recite each of their names, distinguishing properties, uses in potions, appearance, and rarity with fluent ease.

"Thanks, Neville, you're a godsend," she gushed as she started to pack up her things.

"You're welcome, Ginny. It was my pleasure," I replied, blushing lightly at the compliment. I didn't get those a lot, but when I did, it was always for my Herbology prowess.

All packed up, Ginny hesitated for a minute, seeming to war with a sudden thought of hers.

"Neville, do you have a date for the Yule Ball?" she asked me suddenly. My head snapped up from my Charms work. I thought she was just being a malicious gossiper for a second until I realized that Ginny hadn't really come across like that, from what little time I'd spent with her. Besides, she was a Weasley, and Weasleys were generally no-nonsense about that sort of thing.

"No," I replied slowly, shaking my head.

"Would you...would you like to go with me?" she propositioned, rather timidly, "I know Third Years aren't allowed to go unless they're with someone older, but that's not why I'm asking you! I just wanted to do something nice for you since you helped me out with Herbology and all, and I couldn't think of a way with homework because we're not in the same Year, and it doesn't mean that I pity you or anything, Neville, because I really don't, it's just---" she blurted out, much like Hermione had that first day we met on the train.

I held up a hand, stopping her progress before she hyperventilated.

"Ginny, stop. I'll go with you," I agreed. Her face lit up like fairy lights on a Christmas tree and she practically bounced up out of her seat.

"Thanks, Neville! You're a peach," she told me, zipping off and up the girls' staircase.

Over the next two weeks, Ginny and I spent some more time together. We both decided that we were going as friends, and about a week into it I finally got her to confess that she had originally wanted to go because she wanted to show Harry how pretty she could look when she was all dressed up. She hastened to add that that wasn't the reason she had asked me, either, but I told her that I knew that and that I would be happy to help her try and win her man. Ginny's family didn't have a lot, monetarily; a familial ally like Harry would be a big help to them, from my most logical standpoint.

"You're a lot smarter than people think you are, you know, Neville," she said to me one night before picking up her books, wishing me a good-night, and heading upstairs. We had gotten to know each other better while doing homework, as it seemed to be the thing for us. What seemed to be the thing for Ginny, too, was giving compliments. I noticed during those two weeks that whenever somebody went by in a pretty outfit or a new hairstyle, Ginny would call out to them her approval, smiling brilliantly, and it seemed to brighten up their countenance as well. It was like she was some sort of happiness-spreading sprite, sometimes, although I knew she had the Weasley temper and I wasn't about to cross it.

The night before the Yule Ball, I had a very odd dream.

I was in the Gryffindor Common Room, all alone, in front of the fire on the best couch in the room. The portrait hole stirred, and in came Ginny, all smiles. She came over to me, sat down so that there was hardly a centimeter between us, leaned over, and snogged me silly.

She pushed open my lips with her tongue as her body pushed me back so that my head reclined against the armrest of the couch. I felt her hands roving across my body, slipping off my robes and unbuttoning the shirt I wore underneath it with nimble fingers. My own hands entwined in her hair, luxurious crimson tresses softer than a silk teddy bear.

She broke the kiss, and I moaned in displeasure. Then I opened my eyes to see the most devilish smile I'd ever seen on a person before, and I felt her hands moving for the waistband of my trousers.

The dream broke and I awoke, sitting up in my bed with a start. It was then that I noticed that other parts of my anatomy had decided to "sit up", as well. I ignored it the best that I could and rolled over, determined to get back to sleep, but my mind refused to let go of this new development.

By the time dawn came, I managed to snatch maybe three hours sleep, but I was rested and ready for the big day. I had decided to treat this dream as a manifestation of puberty, hormones, and lust, all at once. I acknowledged that Ginny was fit, and that my subconscious needed some figure to stimulate itself. It picked Ginny because we had been spending a lot of time together. She was simply the means to an end for that part of me, nothing more.

Then I saw her come down the stairs, looking like something out of a Victorian wedding, and my subconscious rebelliously kicked into overdrive. I think I managed to stutter out some compliment, applied her flower for her, gave her my arm, and strode down to the Ball with her in tow.

"Are Harry and Ron even close to being ready yet?" she asked me conspiratorally as we walked.

"Harry's okay, but he's trying to help Ron get rid of all the lace," I admitted. Ginny laughed, a tinkling sound that went straight to my anatomy. I promptly started naming the plants of Greenhouse Eight in my mind in clockwise order, starting with the edge-rows, and nearly missed hopping a trick step along the way.

The Ball went somewhat smoothly. Every time Ginny and I would be dancing, my subconscious reared up and started wondering stupid things, like if Ginny's hair was as soft as it thought it was, or if that perfume she was wearing was something she had chosen just for it. Casting them away with the plants of Greenhouses Two, Three, Four, and Nine made me trip several times, and though I apologized and meant it, I could tell Ginny was getting steadily annoyed, so I led her off of the dance floor for a while and got us some drinks.

Once, Harry past us while we were talking and walking aimlessly through the crowd, and I impulsively grabbed Ginny's hand, staking my claim for him to see and for her to marvel at slightly before she figured it out. He had made a move to come talk to us, but settled for a half-hearted wave, which both Ginny and I returned with salutes of our Butterbeer bottles. As soon as he disappeared into the throng of bodies, I released her hand and we continued to converse about the couples on the dance floor, including the surprisingly made-for-each-other Hagrid and Madame Maxime.

When we both decided that we had enough, about three hours in, we departed, heading up to Gryffindor Tower, still laughing and chatting easily. Soon we had to part paths at the staircases and Ginny turned to me.

"Thanks for going with me, Nev. I had a great time," she said, encapsulating me in a quick, fierce, friendly hug. I returned it with less ardor, but no less feeling.

"So did I. Have a nice night," I wished, breaking away with a smile.

"Sweet dreams!" she chirped, her heels tapping as she ascended.

As the year passed, Ginny and I continued to spend time together, as friends, helping each other with homework and whatnot. She would sometimes bring her dormmates over when neither of us could figure out a particularly vexing Astronomy star chart or a Transfiguration technique, but usually it was just the two of us.

The dreams came with quiet frequency, usually once a week, and I continued to tell myself that it was just a way for my libido to express its natural frustration and nothing more.

Just as the Third Task was closing in, Ginny and I were talking late into the night about what mysteries the maze might hold. I was convinced that Professor Sprout was going to be submitting a few of her most dangerous plants, including the beloved Venomous Tentacula, which she thought was a real softie once you got to know it. Ginny pointed out that Hagrid's skrewts were probably the most dangerous of them all, and I agreed, wholeheartedly. After a particularly long laugh at one of her impressions of Hagrid feeding his skrewts, a change came over her face. I recognized it; it meant that Ginny had a thought cross her mind and wasn't sure what to think about it quite yet.

"I think it's time to give up on Harry," she admitted quietly.

"You really think so?" I asked, and for some reason my subconscious thought this would be a great time to make my heart start pounding faster in my chest.

"Yeah, Nev, I think it is. I mean, I've been throwing him signals as big as Bludgers and he's not said or done anything yet, so I just don't think he's interested. Besides, I've...kind of had my eye on someone else," she confided, smiling shyly.

"Oh, really? And who's that?" I questioned, trying to act like the interested friend waiting for gossip. My subconscious reminded my eyes of where we were sitting: the plush red couch closest to the fireplace. My heart continued to speed faster and faster. My throat dried up. I could barely breathe as I waited for Ginny's response. Could that dream have been Fate's revelation of prophecy to me?

"Dean," she replied, "I really like his artwork and he seems really laid-back. Really dateable. Well, you know him better than I do, Neville, you've shared a dorm with him---is he an alright bloke?" she asked.

I was about as eager to answer that question as Harry must have been to think about walking into a maze with Hagrid's skrewts parading through it. Somehow, I found my voice to answer.

"Yeah. Yeah, Dean's a good guy. You should definitely give it a shot, Ginny," I advised, smiling.

Ginny squeezed my knee gently.

"You're a great friend, Neville, you really are. Thanks a bunch," she said, then got up and headed up the stairs to sleep.

In my head and in my heart, though, I knew that Ginny would never really be over Harry. When we learned of the news that the Triwizard Cup had been claimed, but that both Harry and Cedric were nowhere to be found (with Fleur and Krum eliminated from contention), I was rattled. The Cup was supposed to Portkey whomever touched it back to the opening stage, according to Gran, and then the other contenders left in the maze would be located by the patrollers so that the final ceremony could take place as soon as possible. But Harry wasn't here, and Cedric wasn't here, and the Cup was gone. What in the name of Merlin had happened?

Ginny was asking that too, and I remember squeezing her hand tightly as we waited. In fact, the entire Gryffindor contingent had taken up each other's hands: Ron was holding Hermione's, who was holding Dean's, holding Ginny's, holding mine, holding Lavender's, holding Parvati's, holding Seamus', and so on. Colin Creevey had formed a bridge between us and Hannah Abbott of the Hufflepuffs in the next section, and so both Houses were united as one, at last, by the mystery.

This was only broken when the two reappeared. Ginny jumped up from her seat at once, but she was locked in and couldn't get out in time to get down to Harry, so instead she let Dean and I encapsulate her instead. Ron and Hermione burst free from the stands somehow but couldn't get down to Harry's screaming form before Mad-Eye Moody, who led him away from the scene.

In the stands, both Houses consoled their own before Parvati, her make-up a nightmare due to her tears, turned to Ernie MacMillan and wrapped him up in a fierce hug. The barrier re-broken, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs united in grief over the fallen hero that was Cedric Diggory. I daresay that he would be proud of what his legacy wrought.

Fifth Year began with a more somber tone now that Voldemort had returned, but still there was time to laugh and to smile around Hogwarts. A major portion of that came with Harry's (later, I found, heavily influenced by Hermione) decision to start up the Defense Association in rebellion to Umbridge's theory-first uselessness.

It was during D.A. (nicknamed Dumbledore's Army by a particularly candid Ginny) that both Ginny and I came into our own, so to speak. Ginny found her affinity for offensive curses and hexes appreciated and even feared by the rest of the group. It also allowed her to establish a relationship with Michael Corner right underneath Harry's nose to further spark his jealousy (she never admitted this one to me, but I knew that's what she was doing); she decided against dating Dean after the events of the Third Task, but he was still certainly a consideration in her mind, she told me.

I, on the other hand, found that working with Harry every class allowed me to get a handle on defensive spells a lot easier than ever before. Now that I was expected to cast them and nobody would think different of me for doing so, I found that I was, actually, quite good at them. Offensive stuff really wasn't my thing, but I learned them and got better as we moved along. Once, I even managed to Stun Harry, although he wasn't really paying attention. I was hoping he would be staring at Ginny (how could he not, my subconscious asked), for her sake, but instead he was infatuated with the exotic Cho Chang, like usual.

The subterfuge was never more exciting that year than when we were able to help Harry with Umbridge. He and Hermione (who had been up to something, but I didn't know that at the time) had left with her, leaving the Inquisitorial Squad with us. They relaxed their guard, the fools, and in the middle of Malfoy's gloating about how he had finally won, Ginny suddenly spun in her captor's arms and had gotten a hex off. Then the chaos began. Every single one of our captors went for their wands, leaving us free to manuever. Luna kicked somebody in the crotch; Ginny put her Bat-Bogey Hex to great use. I was using my fists, like Ron, until I saw a wand roll across the floor, so I immediately snatched it up and got off two Disarming Spells that I think Harry would have been proud of, were he there to see them. They were the strongest I've ever managed to make them, actually, which was odd considering that it wasn't even my wand that I was using.

In the end, all of them were down, we were up, and then there was the matter of sorting out the wands, which was harder than we thought. Ginny found hers first, in my hand; she had been dual-wielding wands in the fight, ending up with Goyle's and mine. Luna's was near the fireplace, but hadn't gone into the fire; Ron found his underneath Crabbe's unconscious form.

Then, of course, we set out to the Forest to find Harry and Hermione, only to discover that they had already taken care of things and were ready to set off without us. Both Ginny and I weren't ready to let that happen, and we told him so. It took Harry a long time---until he became head of the Auror Division---to figure out that leading a team into battle is much better than going in alone. At the time, I cursed his inability to see simple logic. Now, I appreciate his unwillingness to let any of us die. I think he knew that the chances were exceedingly good that one of us would die were we to follow him, and so he wanted to keep us safe, but he forgot that we knew that too, and were fully ready to do that for him.

As Luna led us to the Thestrals, I finally realized the Sorting Hat's wisdom in placing me in Gryffindor. This was the defining moment in my history; had I not been a Gryffindor, I never would have gotten this chance, nor the other, less important moments (attacking Malfoy at the Quidditch game, standing up to Harry, Ron, and Hermione before they went after the Sorcerer's Stone, defending Harry's sanity countless times to Seamus and Lavender at the beginning of the year, and so on). I arrived at Hogwarts with that seed buried within me, and now that it had been allowed to germinate and burgeon, it was growing into a strong, hardy plant, although the species of which I did not know at the time.

It was this renewed confidence in myself that allowed me to shrug aside the depressing memories of my grandfather's death when we came upon the Thestrals. We had gone to Muggle London for our monthly "Get Away from Gran" outing, and as we were crossing the street, a car didn't stop in time and hit him, full-on. I remember him pushing me out of the way at the last second, taking the full brunt of the crash while I suffered only a bruise from hitting the street the wrong way. I watched as he bled onto the street, smiling eerily in his death. Somehow I had the presence of mind to take his wand from him and rub the pendant that Gran insisted I carry with me whenever we went into Muggle London. It was enchanted with a Protean Charm, much like Hermione's D.A. galleons. I still haven't gotten rid of either trinket---they sit on my desk in my office, proud reminders of the past.

The ride to London allowed me to regain my senses and mull the plan over in my head. I still had absolutely no idea how we were ever going to pull this off without dying in the process, but if anybody had Fate on his side, it was certainly Harry.

Indeed, we went quite a long way without any interference, until the Prophecy Room. Then things got ugly.

In all the hubbub I found myself separated from Ginny, and Ron and Luna. When we met again I wished that I had learned healing spells (they were reserved for seventh year because of what they can do to damage the body, but still) so that I could help them out. One by one, it seemed, everybody was going down: Hermione, to the purple slashing curse; Ron, somehow bewitched and then attacked by the brains; Luna, knocked out; Ginny, down but not quite out. I watched them fall and yet I could do nothing about it, because we had to go on, had to keep going, had to keep pushing.

In the end it was just Harry and I left, and when everything was seemingly at an end, I realized that I was probably going to be the one that died on this mission. I was proud, exceedingly proud, that I had made it this far. I was the last one standing, the only one who had come in with a gameplan of Summoning objects to interrupt curses I didn't know or couldn't dodge, and I was ready to die as a martyr to the cause, just like Cedric and countless others had.

Instead, we were saved by the Order of the Phoenix, and in the confusion, the Prophecy got smashed and my wand destroyed. At the time, I cursed my inability to protect them, wishing that I had done more to secure both of them when they were within my hands. I later learned that it was probably the best thing that could have happened, as it forced Voldemort to attempt other means to retrieve the words of the Prophecy, and also allowed me to get a wand that actually had picked me as its owner, instead of the other way around. (It was also around this time of my adolescence that Trevor suddenly stopped running away.)

As I was the least injured of the six of us, I received the honor of informing each person, as they woke up, what had happened to them and to the rest of us, but they didn't wake up for a while. I was left to my thoughts in the Hospital Wing, mostly alone, and naturally they drifted to the girl in the bed beside me: Ginny.

The year had progressed and Ginny and I had kept our friendship going, even meeting with Luna every now and again---at least, until Umbridge's decrees made that nearly impossible. There were times when my subconscious refused to let go of the idea that she might be into me, but much like she had with Harry, I pushed whatever my subconscious felt for her deep inside of me, like you do when you plant Bubotuber seeds. There were more important things, like class, O.W.L.'s, and the D.A., that required my attention more fully.

So I informed each of them, except for Harry, as they awoke, of the circumstances that had transpired that night. Luna, first to awaken, accepted them with her somewhat otherworldly countenance and told me that I should really get some sleep. Hermione questioned me intensely about what happened to Harry, but even moreso regarding Ron, and after that fell into a fitful rest, positioned in between her two boys. About two hours later, Ron relieved her worries when he awoke at last, all grins. He didn't want me to tell him about what had happened to him, only what Ginny and Hermione had done. His pride for both of them, although different, was obvious to me, and if Luna and I hadn't been there, I think Hermione and Ron would have started snogging right then and there. It had seemed that, at long last, they had discovered their true affinity, although both were suddenly too shy to do anything about it. I thought they were just being silly.

Ginny was the last to awaken, before the thoroughly exhausted Harry. All of us combined to regale her the epic tale, each of us telling our own portions as best as we could, until it got to the showdown at the end where only I could narrate. Ginny kept shining eyes on me the entire time, and when I finished, she reached up and gathered me into a hug.

"I'm proud of you, Nev," she whispered into my ear as we broke apart shortly thereafter, both of our bodies still tender after healing.

"Yeah, mate, you did great," Ron chipped in, beaming. Hermione nodded her approval, smiling, and Luna said something about slithy toves that I didn't really understand but appreciated nonetheless. They all seemed very happy for what I had done, and for the first time I allowed myself to think that perhaps these five people were more than allies---perhaps they could even be called friends.

I mulled that over during the summer and found myself generally agreeing that they were now my friends; after all, friends did things for each other and usually got things in return, and that was really what an ally was if you stopped to think about it, just that friends spent time with you when you didn't need anything out of them. Reconciled with that notion, I hit the books hard and came back to Hogwarts for my Sixth Year feeling more ready than ever to succeed, especially with my encouraging O.W.L. results.

Things got worse with Snape running Defense classes, but I was able to offset it with Herbology Club, and that really helped. Now that I was one of the older students in the Club, I was allowed to work with the most dangerous plants Professor Sprout had, and became one of her trusted confidants as the year progressed. She taught me just about everything she knew that year, and at the time I didn't quite understand why, but I do now: she knew that war was here, and that she could very well be the next one to go. Professor Sprout assembled her best students, just like Professor Flitwick did with Charms Club, McGonagall with Transfiguration Club, Slughorn with the Slug Club, and even Trelawney with Lavender and Parvati. They desperately searched for replacements to instruct the next generation, and I found myself honored to be among those Professor Sprout thought worthy of being her successor.

My nights, therefore, usually consisted of Herbology Club and study sessions with Luna and Ginny, who were frantically revising for the O.W.L.'s, even early in the year. Things got a little heated, at times, Ginny going so far as to pull her wand on Luna once, when we were in one of the empty classrooms working on Third Year Charms. They had been discussing a point about Weakening Solutions, of all the unrelated things, which grew into a debate and then a heated attack on one another's intelligence. Ginny pulled out her wand, fully ready to Bat-Bogey Luna into next week, but Luna had Ginny in a headlock so fast that I could have sworn she had used a Time-Turner. I pulled them apart, and they reconciled almost immediately. In fact, it almost brought them closer together; suffering and breaking under the same pressures seemed to do that to people, oddly enough. Passion was a curious creature indeed.

They never got angry with me, though, mostly considering that my own O.W.L. experience was invaluable to them, but they did get annoyed sometimes---but as soon as I noticed things getting tense between myself and Luna or Ginny, I changed the subject or relented my point. As I've said before, I don't want to invoke the Weasley temper, and nobody really knows what bounces around in Luna's strange mind. She's not a Ravenclaw for no reason, at any rate.

So Sixth Year passed without much incident, again, at least for me. Ginny moved on from Michael to Dean, listening to my advice from two years past, but that failed to develop into anything concrete. Secretly, I found myself relieved, as it meant that Ginny's dream was still kept alive. Harry had still found nobody interesting in his life, having cast aside Cho like yesterday's rubbish long ago, and when Ginny finally became free at the same time, I recognized what could happen.

Naturally, I told Ginny about my observations.

"I told you, Neville, I'm over him," she said gently, patting my arm, "But it's very sweet of you to be trying to find a date for me. Speaking of which," she started, grinning wickedly, "Have you asked Luna out yet? I think you two would really hit it off."

I had made the mistake of telling Ginny once that I had thought Luna had a cute smile---which was the truth, but it didn't mean I was attracted to the girl---and ever since then she had been trying to put us together. She ignored the fact that Luna was head-over-heels with Ron, claiming that she just liked to have fun with him and that it was a front for her real feelings. I wondered how much of that argument really pertained to her instead of Luna, but didn't voice it. There were some things I didn't tell anybody, even Ginny. Especially Ginny.

In the end, Luna and I went on two very awkward dates around the school (as visits to Hogsmeade were cancelled), whereon the second one I brought her a box of chocolates that I had Owl-ordered from Honeydukes. She accepted the present with her usual illucidity, but then she turned to me as we were walking back from the Room of Requirement, quite serious indeed.

"You'd much rather be giving these to someone else, Neville," she informed me, pressing the box gently back into my hands.

"What?" I managed, somewhat dumbfounded. Luna always knew how to put people off, even her friends.

"These dates have been nice, really, but I'd much rather us be friends, and so would you. I know," she said, smiling serenely.

"You're right, Luna. I'm sorry," I apologized, taking the chocolates.

"No, it's quite all right, Neville. It was very sweet of you," she affirmed, folding the wrapping paper and putting it in her robes, "And I always love wrapping paper. It's so much shinier than normal paper, " she enthused, still smiling. We walked in silence for another minute or so before I broke the silence.

"D'you think this'll get Ginny off our backs?" I asked, deciding to go for the cheerful approach. Luna laughed.

"Goodness, I sure hope so! I love her, really, I do, but she simply cannot stand to see anybody alone. Except herself. Poor thing," she added, quietly.

"We should try and set her up," I suggested. She stopped and looked at me curiously.

"Are you sure?" she asked, almost tentative.

"Why not? Harry's free, Ginny's free, they're obviously meant for each other...what could be better?" I asked. Truly, what could be better? I meant what I said without any bitterness; Ginny and Harry together was just...right. Besides, they were the fools who believed in true love and all of that nonsense, something about which I still found unsettling.

Luna gave me that piercing look for a little longer, as if she was trying to peer into my soul, then nodded.

"I'll work on Ginny, you work on Harry," she said simply, and as we departed at the landing for our different Towers, I wondered how in the world I was going to get Harry to notice Ginny.

In the end, it took far less effort than I thought. I occasionally brought Ginny up in conversation when I was with Harry, and at meals I would consistently ask her to pass me some random thing I usually didn't want when I knew Harry was in earshot. Luna, for her part, engaged in some girl talk, trying to convince Ginny that she should just go after Harry and stop playing hard to get, which Ginny vehemently denied doing.

Then, one day, the two of them were suddenly together. I received few details, at first, as Ginny had even restrained from chatting with Luna about it, but after a bit I learned all the juicy stuff from Luna, and, later, from Ginny herself. We were still friends, of course, and although she spent a lot of time with the boyfriend she had wanted for so long, she still found time to talk to me. Although, usually it happened to be at study sessions, with Luna kowtowing along, which I didn't mind. She had become a sort of comrade-in-arms for me, and it was nice knowing that we could work together, the three of us, and achieve great things.

This proved especially vital the night of the Infiltration. Hermione sounded the call on the D.A. coins and Luna, Ginny, and I came running, almost literally, from our study session. Ron shared with us the Felix Felicis that Harry had left behind, and so the five of us set out together to defend Hogwarts from the intruders. We did fairly well together, with the help of the potion, although it was clear that Hermione and Ron worked better together than with any of us. Oddly enough, it was Ron's aggressive "Stun now, ask questions later" method that kept Hermione from losing her focus as she used her subtler, more clever spells to hoodwink her enemies. She watched Ron's back as he charged ahead, far better at distracting attention by being a threat than he was. If I could've watched them fight, I would've, but I had been busy at the time.

Ginny's offensive onslaught must have been terrifying for our opponents. A Fifth Year student with the ability to keep slinging spells with advanced wizards and witches twice or even three times her age must have surprised a couple of them, and Ginny curried that into her favor as well. Luna very calmly went about things, smartly using the environment around her to entrap and disarm her enemies. Several portraits had to be mended after Luna was done with them, using them to deflect more dangerous spells as I had done in the Department of Mysteries. As for me, I focused on mainly defensive maneuvers for all five of us, watching intently from under the cloak of a Disillusionment Charm. Numerous Shield Charms deflected spells they hadn't even seen coming, and as we were being assaulted from all directions, it was quite difficult to watch every side. Once or twice a Death Eater would come after me, trying to see past the Disillusionment, and for his folly I would reward him with a good Stunner, up close and personal. McGonagall took four to the chest and lived, sure, but from long-range. I somehow knew, at that moment, that the Stunning Spell could hurt up close, and so I took advantage of that. Another tool to add to my arsenal, I decided.

The battle moved outside, eventually, and we met up with Harry along the way, just like the potion singing in our veins had told us we would. It was wearing off when we met, but as luck would have it that night, the Death Eaters were eager to beat a retreat as well, and so we were saved from more disastrous consequences.

After Dumbledore's funeral, Ginny came to me with both terrible and delightful news.

"Harry broke up with me," she blurted out, plunking down in our now-usual "relax-a-chairs" in the Common Room.

"No way! Why?" I asked, surprised. Harry broke up with Ginny? Something wasn't right here.

"He doesn't want me to get hurt. Bloody git," she muttered.

I understood immediately. It was Harry's "hero complex", as Hermione had once called it, rising to the forefront. I again cursed his illogical behavior.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," I told her. It was one of the few things that I could think of that was both the truth and that might help her. She didn't come to me expecting for me to tell her that Harry was going to take her back immediately. She didn't come to me expecting to be told that everything was going to be okay. She didn't come to me expecting anything but a listening ear, and that's what I wanted to convey to her that she had, and always would have.

She got the message; in a second, she was in my arms, crying, and I instinctually wrapped my arms around her, patting her back and letting her get the sadness out. Soon she would be angry, I knew, and hopefully she would go to Luna for satisfaction in that; I wasn't eager to throw magical darts at pictures of Harry or anything like that, because I didn't hate him. I wasn't jealous of him, either.

Any traces of jealousy that I had really vanished when he, Ron, and Hermione saw Gran and me at St. Mungo's, visiting Mum and Dad. It was then that I realized that Harry understood exactly what it meant to be an orphan and how you wanted to always impress your parents, no matter the cost, even if they couldn't see or understand your exploits. Thus any ill will I may have harbored for Harry at that point (and although I believed in him steadfastly, I did find myself sometimes wishing that I had his life, when things were going well for him) evaporated.

I really never wanted to be Harry after that moment, and for good reason, as his life seemed to deteriorate in that last year of the war. He, Ron, and Hermione were absent from Hogwarts, along with so many others, leaving very few to look toward for leadership in that dark place.

Ginny took me aside one night and impressed upon me how serious things had become.

"Neville, you know what you've got to do, don't you?" she asked. It had just been after Luna's particularly trying session with Alecto Carrow. I was forced to patch her up with the rudimentary healing skills I had learned, mainly from Herbology.

"What do I have to do, Ginny?" I echoed, annoyed. She had been a bit like this for days, bossy and demanding. It was like she was taking up Hermione's role in her absence.

"You've got to start up D.A. again," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Me?" I replied, my voice shooting up an octave.

"Yes, silly, you," Ginny shot back, lightly smacking me on the arm for my stupidity, "You've practiced with Harry every class, and you're the oldest one of us left from the Department of Mysteries battle," she explained.

"Ginny, you can't be serious. I can't lead you guys. This isn't just Umbridge this time, these are real Death Eaters. Ginny, this is dangerous!" I half-screeched. I wasn't ready for this. Ginny wanted me to put a target on my back? Forget it!

"I have faith in you," she whispered, stepping closer to take my hands, pleading with her eyes.

She really was a good actress.

"Fine, I'll do it," I agreed, and I could swear she almost burst from elation, "But you and Luna are helping me. I can't do this alone," I told her, grabbing onto her hands now for support.

In the presence of greatness, we learn how to be greater ourselves. Or at least that's what I told myself.

"You've got it, Nev," she agreed, "And I'm sure Luna will help, too. We're not going down without a fight in here," she affirmed, eyes blazing. I nodded.

"For them," I said simply, and started the plans.

It wasn't too hard, once I thought about it. The Death Eaters, for all of their knowledge in other, more gruesome areas, still remained hideously ignorant regarding the powers of the Room of Requirement. Then again, it could just be that the Castle itself was trying to help us by hiding it from them. Whatever the reason, we took up station there once more, just like old times, and recruited members as secretly as we could. It wasn't like the old days, not by far, but it was enough, and so I led the handful of rebels entrusted to my care as best as I could.

Ginny handled most of the technical aspects, including when and where to go for the next meeting (which was always the Room, but we acknowledged that that could change at any time if a Death Eater found it), who was or wasn't a member, and the updating of the Protean Charm on the galleons. Luckily, it wasn't as difficult a spell when a currently in-place charm was being altered, so Ginny could handle it with relative ease. Ginny also taught all the members the importance of physical capability in a duel, noting how effective dodges, rolls, twists, and even the occasional pirouette could save lives. Of course, she also covered the 'seven deadly spots' where you could hit a guy to incapacitate him. That was a particularly flinch-worthy class.

Luna guided the younger charges in the easier exercises while I handled the older students. It was best for Luna, a naturally creative spellcaster, to show the younger students how to duel with what they knew. A well-timed Dancing Jinx could disable an opponent just as easily as a Stunner could. She taught them to use the environment around them (something I think the Room enjoyed) to their greatest advantage and to always be aware of everything. Losing focus in a duel, she stressed, was a deathly mistake.

For my part, I acted as the figurehead, the last of Potter's men, so to speak. The older students recognized that I knew what I was doing pretty quickly after I demonstrated my Patroni with Ginny and Luna, then dueled them at the same time during our first class. It wasn't easy, and I almost lost, but Ginny dodged the wrong way once and I caught her with a Summoning Charm. She slammed into Luna, both their wands went flying, and I bound them with Incarcerous before they could recover effectively. My acumen seemed to convince them, then, and so they stayed on to learn with and from me, which usually consisted of defensive spells with the occasional offensive lesson by Ginny.

We always ended the session with a few minutes of _Potterwatch_ to help us all feel a little better about our comrades-in-arms who were fighting outside of the prison the school had become. I worried about Dean, particularly, who was on the run, but my heart went out to all of them who were forced to flee from the disgusting decrees sent down by the Ministry.

I was very happy with the group when Christmas came around. We had advanced to a level where everybody could manage something in defending against a Dementor, and nobody took a single curse willingly, which was something I had to snap out of them. People were confident they could handle things like Leg-Locker for the greater good of being able to counterattack their opponent more quickly, but time and time again I reminded them that Death Eaters use the Killing Curse first and ask questions later. That had convinced most of them.

The only oddity had been one of our covert missions, when we tried to recover the Sword of Gryffindor. We failed, and were caught by Snape, but he merely sent us to Hagrid instead of the Carrows. I didn't question his mercy, but I wondered why, surely. Dumbledore was dead; he had no need to continue the charade of being on our side any longer. I never did know just how much of a snake that man was, but at least he was an honorable snake in death.

When we returned from Christmas break, we were short a member. Luna had fallen, captured aboard the Hogwarts Express and imprisoned for her father's crimes. Where, we weren't sure, but all ears were open to find out why. Ginny and I clung together then, taking over Luna's attention-to-detail portions of the lessons with vigor. It was because we weren't vigilant enough to notice where and why she had gone (when we went to disembark, she told us she would catch us up, having forgotten her scarf, which she hadn't; she'd been Confunded when we weren't looking).

We lived for class and for each other's company, for it was lonely indeed without Luna and her ethereal quirkiness around to perk us up when we were ready to rip each other apart. It got tense sometimes, but I followed my rule of not standing up to Ginny, and it worked; she always apologized for the transgressions, anyway.

Then came Easter, and more disaster. The Death Eaters uncovered the Weasleys' ruse that Ron wasn't sick with spattergroit, and Ginny was forced to leave for her own safety. We barely had seconds to say good-bye to each other.

"Neville! Nev! Wake up, you lazy sod!" Ginny whispered in my ear.

I shot up, wand ready.

"Tell me something only Ginny would know," I demanded.

"You remember basil because it makes potions go boom if you add it," she quickly replied, not flinching a bit. I lowered my wand.

"What's up, Ginny?" I asked, fatigue threading across my body.

"They know about Ron. I've got to leave, now," she informed me, speaking fast, "They're waiting for me. I just had to say good-bye," she added.

"Where? What?" I stammered, completely lost. Ginny was leaving me all alone? I couldn't do it; losing Luna was bad enough, I couldn't lose her, too. I wouldn't!

"Sorry, Nev," she whispered, stepping in for a quick hug. I held her tight, clutching onto her as if she were my lifeline, but she broke away, ever the stronger.

"You can handle the galleons, right?" she asked. I nodded. It wasn't easy, but I had learned the Charm a couple of weeks ago on Ginny's insistence that I would need to contact everyone if something happened to her.

"Good," she mumbled, "Well, 'bye," she said lamely, and made for the door.

"Ginny!" I blurted just before she crossed the threshold. She turned around.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Be safe," I said seriously, holding her gaze as keenly as I could. I had wanted to say something else, something more important or profound, but my tongue had a mind of its own. I blame my subconscious.

"Always am," she said cheekily, grinning as she disappeared, and suddenly the room seemed all that much more darker.

So I led the resistance, alone, for as long as I could. Thankfully, it wasn't long until word came that it was time for the Light's final stand. I did my part, assembling those whom I could, and made sure to help Harry as best as I could. I was overjoyed to be reunited with old allies from the past and present, but the most pleasure came when Luna and Ginny tackled me together, a true group hug. We were a trio of our own, I realized, with bonds as strong as Harry, Ron, and Hermione. It had been an odd road, but we had arrived at our destination.

Ginny fumed about not being able to join the fight, but I knew she would find a way, as would Luna. Nobody kept them down for very long; and, indeed, when Harry needed the Room, out she and Luna came, ready to fight. When we could, we stuck together, fighting down the evils that came our way. As it had been when we fought the year before, I defended, Ginny attacked, and Luna lured. It wasn't easy, but we fought, and we were determined to win. With all of the allies the Light had recruited to make our last stand, how could we not?

We could not win, I learned, when we lost Harry. I knew that, as plain as day, but before he died, he had told me about Nagini. I had a task to perform, and I was going to be damned if I let my own death, or Harry's, keep me from that.

So I confronted him. Stood in front of him and told him off, right then and there. My former self would've fainted dead away, but here I was, standing tall.

Inspired by my confidence, the rest of the Defenders refused to give up as well, and through my old friend, the Sorting Hat, I took Nagini out---for Harry's memory.

Then all hell broke loose, and I barely had time to think before I had to move, move as fast as I could, and I saw Harry amidst it all but I couldn't focus on him because there were spells coming at me from every direction.

A familiar shield snagged a Stunner coming for my head, and a Reductor Curse deflected a Killing Curse heading my way. Somehow, in the carnage, Ginny and Luna had found my side again, and so we worked together until we were separated again by necessary dodging. Bellatrix found Ginny, and although Luna and I battled to get to her, we were too late: somebody else had. Molly Weasley stormed in like an inferno and, with considerable effort, killed the infernal woman at long last.

When the battle ended, Ginny, Luna, and I stood together. We battled, we won, and all was well. When we were convinced that we could let our guard down, we hugged each other, fatigue overwhelming us at long last as we stumbled about the wreckage hand-in-hand-in-hand, helping transport fallen comrades when we could and checking up on our closest friends.

Our time together ended rather quickly after that.

I moved on to the Ministry, working under Minister Shacklebolt. Luna became a naturalist of sorts, almost a Magizoologist, which seemed funny and fascinating to me all at once. Ginny played Quidditch and lived happily ever after with Harry. Just as it should have been, it was.

I've learned that love is indeed a fickle thing. It doesn't know what it wants all the time, but when it does, it latches onto it and refuses to let go for anything. So today, as I have every year since Luna gave them back to me, I pull out the box of chocolates that I've stored under a Preservation Charm and remove the last one. I find an owl, who takes it to Ginny with a note expressing birthday wishes and that I will most certainly be at the party tonight in her honor.

As I stare at the now-empty box, something inside of me says to throw it away and go buy another box. I almost listen until my subconscious---which I realize now is truly the voice of love---comes up with a better idea.

I Shrink the empty box to the size of a normal paperweight and set it amongst the treasures on my desk: the D.A. galleon, Gran's pendant, my box of Drooble's wrappers, a snapshot of the new D.A., and Pomona's rusty keyring. I look at my assembled relics and smile.

I am a fool, I tell myself, a ruddy fool.

My smile widens.


	10. Bellatrix and Regulus

**The Warrior and Her Prince**

**(Bellatrix/Regulus) **

**By MatoakaWilde**

* * *

_Dear Mother,_

_I miss home very much. This school is freezing and I am very uncomfortable. I must hunt down house elves just to get extra blankets! And worse yet, some mudblood Hufflepuff has taken to fancying me, and I ASSURE_ _you I have repeatedly made it clear that I want NOTHING to do with her and her filthy lot. But she is quite stupid and continues to harass me in the hallways—even after I hexed her! Anyway, as you know next weekend is Valentine's Day, and I fear she might be just so bold as to do something really terrible and embarrass me in front of the entire school. Maybe send me a singing telegram or put love potion in my pumpkin juice. What I'm saying mother is that you must help me! I CANNOT be on school grounds this weekend. I might end up using an Unforgivable! Help me! I MUST come home next weekend._

_Love, your son,_

_ Regulus_

* * *

_My Poor Darling,_

_Of course I will protect you from that DISGUSTING girl. I will send an owl to the Headmaster straight away and explain this most unfortunate situation. I must say I am very proud of how you are handling this. If only your wretched ex-cousin who must not be named had possessed the sensibility you do. I am relieved I have raised at least ONE son to take pride in his blood. I will send Kreacher to fetch you after your classes next Friday. For the House of Black must be protected!_

_Sincerely,_

_ Your Mother_

_P.S. Which hex did you use? Perhaps next time you should do something a bit more devastating to the bitch. She must realize she can NEVER have you._

Regulus reread his mother's reply for the seventh time as he waited for Kreacher in the Slytherin common room. He didn't know when the house elf would show up, only that it would be sometime after five. Presently it was four forty-six. Regulus hoped nothing would spoil his plan.

In reality, there were no girls lusting after him. There was not a Hufflepuff mudblood stalking him. He had made it all up. The only truth his letter had held was that occasionally he _did_ suffer through the odd chilly night—apart from that though, pure fiction.

Really the letter he'd sent was part of a greater scheme then just fooling his mother into making the Headmaster let him go home for a weekend. His main goal was not actually to go _home _at all, but to see Bellatrix.

--Oi! What're you doing, sitting there with that bag?

One of the Slytherin prefects came over to Regulus from across the room. The prefect nudged Regulus' bag with his foot. It fell over. Regulus picked it up and held it in his lap.

--I'm leaving for the weekend. I've got permission from the Headmaster.

Regulus produced a piece of parchment from his pocket. The prefect seemed uninterested in the note.

--Let me see what's in your bag.

--Why.

Regulus _hated_ prefects—Gryffindor and Slytherin ones alike. They all acted the same, like giant arrogant self-important ministry officials. And this _particular_ prefect had a _particular _bone to pick with Regulus. Just the week prior Regulus had made a house elf sing a love poem to one of the first year Slytherin boys. And Regulus had made sure the house elf would tell the poor first year just who'd sent him to sing: the prefect.

It had been _hilarious_. He'd gotten detention with Slughorn, but it had been worth it.

--I SAID, let me see what's in your bag!

The prefect snatched the bag from Regulus and began pulling stuff out; socks, a shirt, underwear, then he stopped. He held a box of chocolates in his hand. The box was olive green and bordered in silver. It was in the shape of a heart. The prefect chuckled to himself.

--What's this now? Was this received or is it to be given?

Regulus' brows slanted.

--Give it back Rosier.

--Let me guess, it's for James Potter. He's quite popular, isn't he? You would never guess what I caught two of our very own first year girls doing in the Gryffindor locker-room.

--I could care less. And it's not for _anyone_. My mum sent them to me.

--You're mum's your Valentine? Should've guessed. I mean, I know your family likes to keep it _pure_, but—

--_STUPEFY!_

Red light shot out at Rosier and the prefect fell to the ground, unmoving.

Regulus didn't care how many detentions he would get or how many House points he would loose. No one was allowed to say such things about his mother or his family.

He heard a loud cracking pop. He turned his head. The family house elf Kreacher stood behind him. Regulus grinned. He'd come to feel something like love toward the elf that he'd known his whole life. Regulus didn't really have any 'best' friends, and he figured Kreacher was really the only one qualified for such a title, though he'd never told anyone this.

--Fantastic! Kreacher, you've arrived just in time.

Kreacher bowed his head.

--No Master Regulus, you are mistaken! Kreacher is thirty-two seconds late from when he had planned to arrive. He tired to come sooner, but Master Regulus' bed needed fresh linens.

Regulus laughed at the house elf's seriousness.

--No matter Kreacher. We must be going though. I don't want to be here when they find out about _that_.

Regulus pointed to the unconscious prefect who still clutched the box of chocolates in his hand.

--Of course Young Master! Let me gather your things!

Regulus dumped his bag into Kreacher's arms and watched the house elf gather the clothes Rosier had tossed onto the floor.

--Oh and Kreacher, will you get that green box right there? It's mine and I would be very sad not to have it.

--Certainly Master! I would love to!

The little house elf eagerly crouched down to the stupefied prefect. Kreacher's small gray fingers delicately pried the box out of the prefect's grasp and tucked it underneath his arm. The elf then held out his free hand, which Regulus readily grabbed hold of.

With a loud crack, they were gone.

* * *

_Another Valentine's Day alone_, Bellatrix mused to herself as she washed down a mouthful of chocolate covered shortbread with fire whiskey and tea—a drink she had developed a taste for. 

Rodolphus, for one reason or another, always seemed to be away on February 14th. Work, the Dark Lord, and other such obligations always came first. Bellatrix didn't mind though, he always made up for it. Earlier that day an owl had delivered a box of bakery and a dirty letter he'd written describing all the things he would do to her when he got back. She had laughed for hours. Rodolphus could be so silly sometimes.

As she finished her tea she looked out of the window at the hazy sky. A mixture of rain and not quite snow was starting to fall. During the night it would all freeze into ice. She was glad she was not expected to be anywhere. Though there was a downside to sitting around the house with nowhere to go and nothing to do. She was _bored_.

She sighed. It seemed like a good a time as any to check to see if she had _finally_ gotten pregnant.

Since their second year of marriage, she and Rodolphus had tried to conceive a child, failing repeatedly. She blamed him. He blamed her. About once a month they would fight.

Having a child was something she was beginning to obsess over. Not only did she feel it was her _duty_ to prolong the great House of Black, but everywhere she went she felt herself surrounded by more and more mudblood scum. She felt she had an _obligation_ to fight such a trend.

She went to a small cupboard and lifted out a large metal case. She put the case on the table and opened it. Inside was a miscellaneous assortment of things; miniature bottles, empty and full vials, strange little silver tools, and compartments with different potions ingredients.

She took out one of the empty vials, over which she held the tip of a one of her fingers. Using the sharp end of one of the silver tools, she pricked her fingertip. A small dot of blood slowly made its way to the surface. With her thumbnail she pressed onto the minuscule wound, collecting the blood she milked into the vile.

Only a few drops were needed. In no time at all she pointed her wand at her finger, healing it instantly.

With the vial of blood now procured she looked through the metal case once more and removed from it a little glass bottle. It was made of iridescent purple glass and on the label was the face of a happy baby.

Carefully Bellatrix poured a small measured amount of the bottle's contents into the vial. The bottle's liquid was clear, but when it hit the blood both the liquid and the blood began to rapidly change color. Red to green to brown to yellow. Bellatrix watched it impatiently, swirling the mixture in hopes of agitating to react faster. The color finally settled on a pleasant powdery white, and ceased to change.

Bellatrix screamed and threw the vial, which shattered upon the stone-tiled floor.

The result had obviously not been the desired one.

Tears of rage swam in her eyes. She let out more screams; each filled with more emotion then the last. Her howls sounded like that of a wild beast. She continued to scream and cry as she began to destroy anything that happened to be around her. She threw her empty teacup against the wall and then threw the box of Valentine's biscuits Rodolphus had sent into the air, aimed her wand at them, and made them explode.

Then she fell to the floor, and covered her face with her hands. She took a ragged breath.

There was a knock at the door.

* * *

The plan had come to him months ago on a November night, just after he'd finished masturbating. 

On Valentine's Day he would tell Bellatrix, in person, how he felt about her. If he had to sneak out of school to do so he would. He would show up on her doorstep, preferably with a gift of some kind, and profess his love (in his fantasy Rodolphus was always inexplicitly absent).

He would tell her that she was the only one he loved, the only one he could _ever _love. That he didn't care if she _was_ ten years older, or if she _was _married or if she _was _his cousin. She would be so moved by his pledge of allegiance that she would have no choice but love him back. Then they could begin a secret affair. Rent rooms together. That sort of thing.

It all seemed terribly romantic to him, and the more time that passed the more energy he put into thinking about it.

Now almost three months later, there he was, standing in front of Bellatrix's door. Without thinking about it any longer, knocked. Immediately he regretted it. He felt his heart drumming within his chest.

There was no response. He had never considered that she might not be even home when he came calling. He felt sick to his stomach. He knocked again. She _had _to be here. No answer. He knocked again. No answer. He knocked again. He felt desperate.

Before he could knock again the door opened.

Bellatrix stood before him.

He thought he might faint.

* * *

She hadn't bothered to clean up any of the mess she'd made, and as she sat staring curiously at her young cousin, she fiddled with a piece of broken teacup. Regulus glanced about at the rubbish strewn throughout the normally meticulous room. 

--Is this ah, um, a bad time?

Bellatrix smiled, _what he must be thinking!_ Surprisingly she did not feel ashamed about the mess. On the contrary. She found the situation quite amusing.

--No. Not at all. Why do you ask?

Regulus blushed.

--Er, no reason.

They sat in silence a moment longer. Bellatrix made no move to offer him anything to eat or drink. She just sat looking at the young boy, barely fifteen. Some said that Sirius was the more handsome brother, but she did not agree, and not just because she despised Sirius and his treacherous behavior. No, Regulus was the more appetizing of the two, with his round face, high check bones, and thick black hair, Bellatrix had always fancied him a male version of herself.

--So why are you here again? Bellatrix asked matter-of-factly. She had never understood the necessity of manners.

Regulus looked slightly bewildered. He just stared at her. She wondered if the boy was all right. She was about to ask again when he practically shouted,

--I LOVE YOU!

Bellatrix regarded the boy will a peculiar look, slightly confused.

--Yes…I suppose I love you as well little cousin. After all, we are family.

Regulus began to get a bit red in the face.

_What in the world is going on? I wonder if he has been poisoned. Too bad I'm all out of bezoars, _Bellatrix thought, _he better not drop dead on my floor. I will have none of that._

Then Regulus got out of his seat and walked up to her, presenting her with a green heart-shaped box from inside the bag he carried. Bellatrix took it, smirking.

--What's this?

--Read the card.

Sure enough a little envelope was stuck to the back of the box. Bellatrix ripped it open. Inside was a plain ivory card.

_Dearest Bellatrix,_

_Your eyes are nothing like the sun. Coral is much redder than your lips. If snow is white, then your breasts are dun. If hairs are wires, black wires grow on your head. I have seen red and white roses, but I see no roses in your cheeks, and perfume smells much better than your breath. I love to hear you speak, though your voice doesn't sounds as beautiful as music. And yet I think you are wonderful and rare, without compare._

_With the love of a thousand stars, _

_Regulus_

Bellatrix finished reading the note and at once began giggling with delight, which soon escalated into hysterical laughter. Regulus mistook her pleasure for mockery. His face went pure scarlet.

--You don't have to laugh… He managed to mumble.

She looked at him and laughed even harder, tears leaking from her eyes.

--Fine. I get it…Okay? I'm just going to go. I'll let myself out.

Regulus started to shuffle out of the room, his head down, defeated.

--No! Please. Don't go! Bellatrix managed to choke out between giggles.

Regulus turned around and looked at her, all hope gone from his face.

--Why? So you can laugh at me some more?

_He sounds so pathetic, _she thought, before collecting herself, trying to calm down.

--No. Not so I can laugh at you.

Regulus gave her a brief little half-smile and hesitantly returned to his seat.

--So, you think you love me? Bellatrix asked smiling.

--I know I do. I love no one but you.

His serious tone almost reignited her hysteria. She stifled it, thought barely.

--What's in this box then?

--Chocolates. I selected them all myself at—

--_Incendio_!

--Hey!

The box burst into flames. Ashes sprinkled down into Bellatrix's lap.

--It's a rule I have. Never eat anything given to you by an obsessive maniac—it could very well spiked with something. Box of Chocolates, Valentine's Day? So very basic. Slughorn's just taught you how to brew amortentia, has he?

--I am not an obsessive maniac.

--Of course you're not darling.

--And I don't even know how to brew a swelling solution, let alone amorentia…

--Is that so?

--YES IT IS! Regulus roared angrily.

Bellatrix smiled. The boy was handsome, _cute _really. Bellatrix actually _did _feel slightly flattered that he felt so strongly about her.

--So back to my initial question, which you never sufficiently answered, why are you here? She paused, then added, What do you hope to accomplish?

She re-crossed her legs and while eyeing him, dropping the piece of porcelain she had been playing with to the floor.

--I, I, er, I just wanted to…tell you how I felt. I mean um…it's Valentine's Day?

_Oh the poor boy, he is really quite sad_, she thought, _what am I to do with him?_

She continued looking at him, and he out the window. Aside from his determined silliness, he _did _remind her a lot of herself. The way he sat, how his hair looked in the light...and she too remembered getting dismal marks in potions. To Bellatrix his most attractive quality was the fact that he appeared so similar to her.

Suddenly a thought occurred to her.

She left her seat and moved to the small settee that Regulus occupied. Without stalling she pressed her lips to his, giving him a long serious kiss, which he readily gave into.

If Rodolphus couldn't get her pregnant perhaps her handsome cousin _could_.

* * *

Regulus thought that a great error had occurred when Bellatrix leaned forward and kissed him. _She must have fallen or something_, he thought. Was she really _kissing _him? 

But he could taste her mouth, her spit wet his lips, and she wasn't pulling away. When the kiss ended Bellatrix gently caressed his face, making his skin erupt into goosepimples.

--What are you doing?

A stupid thing to ask, he knew, but he just couldn't juxtapose what was happening now to what had transpired earlier.

--Making your visit worthwhile.

She kissed his ear, then whispered into it,

--Rewarding your efforts.

Then she kissed his neck, and it felt so good he could scarcely stand it. But something fought in his mind to be said.

--Do you love me?

Bellatrix looked up at him. She seemed mildly surprised. She smiled at him and said looking straight into his eyes,

--With the love of a thousand stars.

Regulus almost couldn't take it, he had to hold himself back, it was all so much. He felt like he was in the middle of one of his fantasies.

Bellatrix took his hand and stood up. Instinctively he stood as well.

--Come now; let us go someplace more…comfortable.

She walked towards her bedroom. He followed willingly.

* * *

Regulus lay on the bed staring up at Bellatrix's face with longing and doubt. His dark brown eyes tried to penetrate hers, but she gave nothing away. Her face beamed down at him like a Cheshire cat's. 

--I've never done, er, uh…

Bellatrix sat atop his waist, straddling him. Regulus isn't wearing a shirt and neither is she. All she wore were her knickers, which are anything but modest. As she unzipped his trousers she began to kiss his chest.

--Don't worry my little Prince, she purred, I'm here to…_help_.

After she freed Regulus from the confines of his underwear her mouth briefly lingered between his legs before she lowered her lips. A noise escaped Regulus that sounded like he was choking.

--Bella—

She looked up, normally she _hated_ when people called her that, but they way Regulus said it touched something within her.

--Yes?

--I…I love you.

And she wasn't completely lying when she said,

--I love you too.

* * *

When it was over Regulus watched Bellatrix lay on her side, her head turned away from him. He was afraid to touch her. He didn't want to ruin anything. He savored the moment, failing to intellectualize any of it. 

Then he remembered something. He leaned over the bed and reached into the pocket of his discarded trousers.

--I almost forgot. He said cautiously, I…I got this for you.

Bellatrix turned around. She was handed a thin silver band. She inspected it.

--Look on the inside.

She did. Engraved in neat lettering was: '_To Bella—I love thee, Ab imo pectore, Ad infinitum, I love thee.'_

Bellatrix didn't say anything.

--What, er, what, do you like it? What do you think?

Bellatrix fidgeted with the ring, but didn't put it on. A sharp pain struck her and she felt overwhelmed by an unfamiliar feeling.

--I think you should go back to school.

He looked at her with perplexity. She barely returned his eye contact. And when he didn't make any move to get up she suddenly became very angry.

--Don't you have some _homework _to do? An essay on the uses of unicorn hair or something?

--What? Why are you so angry?

--I'm angry because I've been a good hostess and now I'm asking you to _leave _and you _won't_.

--A good _hostess_?

--Yes. I entertained you so now you can go.

--_Entertained_ me?

--What are you, are parrot?

--No.

--Rodolphus will be back soon, she lied. Go on, get!

As Regulus dressed Bellatrix stared at the wall opposite him and gazed into a mirror at her reflection. She lost track of time. Before he left she heard him call a 'good-bye' in the most pathetically polite way, so much so it nauseated her.

When she heard the front door gently close she gave the silver ring one last look before violently flinging it out of the room. She couldn't bear being near it. She kept her eyes locked on her reflection and began to scream until her throat hurt.

* * *

Three weeks later Rodolphus is on his way to bed when something catches the light and sparkles in his eye. He kneels down onto the oriental hallway rug and begins searching for what he just barely saw. 

_What's this? _He thinks as he finds the ring. He hears Bellatrix calling to him, _I'm coming_, he says.

He looks more closely at the ring, trying to remember if he recognizes it. He is just about to shrug it off and pocket it when he notices some lettering on the inside of the band.

He reads it.

He knows it's not from him.

He gets angry. Furious.

What has been going on in this house when he's away?

Bellatrix calls to him again. He says nothing, but goes to her.

He keeps asking, but she won't say where the ring came from, or who gave it to her.

They have a fight. A really_ bad _fight.

This time Bellatrix does _not_ win.

The next day she has a miscarriage.

She tries her best never to talk to Regulus again. Even when they both become Death Eaters she will go out of her way to ignore him.

He will never find out why.

* * *

A/N: '_Ab imo pectore, Ad infinitum' 'From the bottom of my chest/heart, without limit/to infinity'_

Also Regulus' love letter was adapted from Shakespeare's Sonnet 130 (My Mistress' Eyes are Nothing Like the Sun). I figured what could scream 'Valentine's Day' more then a little plagiarism provided by ole Willy S.

Oh and story took place in Regulus' fourth year, I made him have an early birthday so he'd turn 15 while still being a 4th year. Yes, that means a 15 and 24/25 year old hooked up. It turned out quite unfortunate for both of them, don't you think?


	11. Narcissa and Igor

**When You Hear Nothing At All**

**(Narcissa/Igor)**

**By stella8h8chang __**

****

* * *

**_Maria:_**_ Nothing comes from nothing, nothing ever could…  
**(THE SOUND OF MUSIC)**_

* * *

**(Hand-Holding) September 1963**

Cissy Black stood on Platform nine-and-three-quarters holding her older sister Andy's hand and watching Bella, the eldest; strut about in her Hogwarts robes. Bella had a playmate already – Rita Skeeter – a family friend – who was equally vain about her brand-new clothes.

Their parents were busy talking to the parents of some other boy in Bella's year. The Karkaroffs, or something. She had eavesdropped enough to know that the Karkaroffs were one of the greatest wizarding families in Russia, and it was said that they could trace their heritage back to "Catherine the Great, Empress of Russia and Sorceress of the East".

But Cissy's eight-year-old eyes just saw three people – a man, a woman and a boy – with pointed faces and coal-black hair. The man had a moustache and a beard. The woman's hair was so straight it looked like a sheet of silk. The boy had a bit of a nervous, or maybe restless, twitch, and was dwarfed by his school trunk.

"Dmitri!" said the girls' father. "I don't believe you've met my youngest two before! This is Andromeda, and this is Narcissa. Girls, meet Mr and Mrs Karkaroff, and their son Igor, one of Bellatrix's classmates!"

The boy, clutching a book to his chest with his right hand, extended his left for Andy to shake.

"It's your _other hand_," snapped his father, rapping the boy's knuckles. Those four words were enough to reveal his funny accent to Cissy, who smiled, as Mr Karkaroff moved away and resumed his chat with her father.

The boy caught Cissy's look and grinned back. "Sorry," he said.

Cissy felt obligated to give him an answer. "Nothing to be sorry about, Andy and I are left-handed too!"

"I'm not left-handed," said the boy. "I'm ambidextrous."

"Oh," said Cissy, her smile fading. "What does that mean?"

"It means I can write with both." His blue eyes sparkled. "But I like my left better." The combination of bright blue eyes and black hair was strange to Cissy, but not particularly unpleasant.

"You don't sound Russian," said Andy, not happy to be left out of the conversation.

"I can do a very convincing imitation of a Russian accent," he said. "But my parents moved to England before I was born."

"Why?"

"The war," he said darkly, and the girls knew not to press him any further. They had heard stories of the war on the Continent in the decade before they were born. Hundreds had fled in fear of the dark wizard Grindelwald, who had had plans to lift the Statue of Secrecy, which kept magical people out of reach of Muggles.

"_Which wouldn't have been too bad an idea," their father had muttered, warning them not to repeat this outside the house. "Mark my words, we've been suppressed and hidden for too long. But Grindelwald wanted to raise the Mudbloods to the same status as purebloods, which made absolutely no sense. A Mudblood is as good as a muggle to your mother and me."_

Andy always knew how to change the subject whenever Cissy was awkwardly silenced.

"So, what house do you think you'll be Sorted into at Hogwarts?"

He shrugged, and Cissy realised that he was a foreigner, and wouldn't know about the Hogwarts houses.

"All of us have been in Slytherin," said Andy.

"Really?" said the boy, much more brightly. "Then I hope I'm in Slytherin, then!"

"Photo time!" shouted Mrs Skeeter, who had permed, bleached hair and bright red lips and nails. "One with all the first-years to start with!"

She shoved Rita in between Bella and Igor, and snatched together three other children – a dark, handsome boy, Cousin Kelvin, and two severe-looking twin girls, whose hair was parted impeccably. "See you in Slytherin!" she screeched, as she took the first snapshot.

"Now for the littleuns!" said Mrs Skeeter. "And the older ones too!"

"Go on!" said Cissy and Andy's mother.

They joined the growing group of children. Cousin Evan. A boy with shoulder-length blonde hair. A plump girl with a scowl. A girl with curls and glasses, towered over by a similarly bespectacled boy. A boy already wearing a Slytherin scarf. Two thickset boys.

Cissy catalogued them in her mind as they all gathered in front of Mrs Skeeter's camera.

"What kind of expression is that, Narcissa?"

"It's vacant sweetness, mother," cackled Bella. "It's what Cissy is most famous for."

* * *

**(Tears) January 1966**

Andy and Cissy had two more carefree years at home together, spending a great deal of time babysitting their tiny cousins Sirius and Regulus for Aunt Walburga, a very busy woman. Even the girls' mother agreed that it had worked out well; Andy took care of Sirius, the older one, and Cissy looked after Regulus, because, well, he was her favourite. He was a sweet baby – he was very quiet.

Unfortunately, this arrangement could not last, as the day came when Andy joined Bella at Hogwarts, and Cissy was left with a five-year-old Sirius, who hated her and had begun to express early signs of magic by setting things on fire. Just like Bella, only her flames had always been acid-green and incapable of permanent damage (in contrast again, Cissy's outbursts usually involved water and Andy's sparks).

Usually Cissy concealed her resentment better than Sirius did, but on one horrible occasion, Sirius reduced Cissy's favourite photo to ashes. It was the one taken by Mrs Skeeter on Platform 9 ¾ with Bella, Andy and the other future Slytherins (although Andy had been sorted into Ravenclaw because she was too clever).

"SIRIUS! YOU IDIOT!" she shrieked.

Sirius looked up at her, eyes wide with horror as they glazed over.

He froze.

Regulus tottered over inquisitively and gave Sirius a poke. He had indeed been Petrified. Cissy ran through the house, shouting for her mother, tears running down her face.

"Mama! I just Petrified Sirius!" she burst into the study, quickly wiping her eyes.

"_Really?_" Druella Black sounded more curious than concerned. "Whereabouts?"

"In the playroom," said Cissy. "What will Aunt Walburga say?"

"Hush, Narcissa," said her mother, as they walked down the stairs.

She remained completely calm, and Cissy resolved to learn from her. It only took a few moments for her to examine Sirius and restore him to his usual self with a tap of her wand. "That's powerful magic, Cissy, the Total Body-Bind."

Cissy was still wary, expecting punishment.

"I wouldn't be surprised if we got a letter from Hogwarts soon. You're almost eleven, and you're clearly magically mature enough." She put a slim-fingered hand on her daughter's shoulder. "By the way, what was it that Sirius did to earn your anger?"

"He incinerated something of mine," Cissy said, truthful at first. "But…it's nothing, really…"

* * *

**(Hair) September 1966**

At last, the Black family could have a giant photograph over their mantelpiece of three girls, in black school robes, in front of the school train. One with hair like ink, one with hair like milk-coffee, and one with hair like champagne. One smiled with narrow eyes, and a contemptuous curl of her lip. The middle one had her mouth wide open and laughing, her eyes twinkling and lots of colour in her cheeks. And the last, with less of a smile than a pout and more of a lost look than anything else, stood there without the movement of her middle sister, and without the arrogance of her eldest, but with her own curious poise.

The Slytherin common room was abuzz after the start-of-term feast. Brothers, sisters, cousins and even someone's nephew were all welcomed warmly among the green and silver silk banners.

Cissy graciously greeted them all. Good old Cousin Kelvin. Rita Skeeter. She could tick their faces off from the lost photo which she had committed to heart. Lucretia and Hestia Crouch. Lucius Malfoy. Bertha Jorkins. Wilbert and Wilhelmina Slinkhard. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. But there was one left.

"Where's Igor?" she asked, scanning the room.

"Igor?" Bella screwed up her eyes.

"Oh, you mean Igor Karkaroff!" Rita exclaimed. "No, he's in Ravenclaw with Andromeda."

But there was no time for pondering; Bella had moved on. "Crabbe! Goyle! Meet my little sister!" she stooped and whispered in Cissy's ear as two burly boys approached. "You may not like the look of those two, but they're _extremely_ handy to know and have around. Lucius knows _very well_."

Cissy gave them all her usual saccharine smile. But all while doing the obligatory rounds, her mind started to wander to what they'd be doing tomorrow.

Cissy wondered if McGonagall would favour the Gryffindors and dislike the Slytherins in first period Transfiguration. She was rather prim – you could tell from the way her black hair was knotted tightly at the back of her head, and the way her collar had been starched to resemble cardboard. Cissy would have to step carefully there. On the other hand, Bella had already sung praises of the fat, jovial Professor Slughorn, the Head of Slytherin and Potions Master. He had a habit of hand-picking his favourite students and doting on them – and this "Slug Club" of his included a few dozen relatives.

"What are you thinking about, Narcissa?" asked Lucius Malfoy, a handsome boy with blonde hair, much like hers, combed back and secured with a green velvet cord.

"Nothing," she said, looking into his silvery-grey eyes.

* * *

**(Rose) July 1967**

"We must hold a party!" said Aunt Walburga. "To celebrate Bellatrix and Kelvin's prefectship!"

"Mother, I'd like to invite someone else," said Andy. "The Ravenclaw prefects; I know one of them particularly well."

"Of course, Andromeda," said their mother without thinking, as she walked out of the room, arm-in-arm with their aunt, planning loudly.

"Who are the Ravenclaw prefects?" Cissy asked Andy.

"Ning Lee and Igor Karkaroff…"

"Igor Karkaroff…" Cissy repeated softly. In thirteen and a half years, Andy's voice had never faded away. Whenever Cissy might have been lost for words, Andy never was.

"Yes," said Andy, her face turning faintly pink.

"The Russian?"

"Mmm," she replied, getting up from the chair and opening a window.

Cissy was twelve and a half, and by no means dense. "Are you two together?"

"I don't know," she said with a sigh. "You never quite know with Igor. We're good friends. But I don't know if it'll only ever be nothing more than that. Besides, he's two years older than me."

"But Aunt Walburga and Uncle Orion are five whole years apart!" Andy was her sister, and Cissy naturally wanted to comfort her. "I'm sure his parents will love you, and our parents will love him."

"I know," she said, now walking over to the mantelpiece, where a bunch of roses had been arranged in front of their portrait. She began to fiddle with the stems, and Cissy took this as a cue to leave her alone.

* * *

**(Swing) July 1967**

By nightfall, Cissy was bored, and wishing she had thought to invite someone, like Andy. So out into the backyard she went, even though she was too old for their cubby-house and swing-set. However, there was someone else sitting on the seat of the swing.

"I never thought you'd be one to like the fresh air," he said.

Cissy could see nothing of his features or expression; his face was entirely in shadow. Her first instinct was to ask "Where's Andy?" but instead, she said, "I don't like to go out during the daytime, because I get dreadfully sunburnt. But I don't mind the night."

"Do you want a turn? I'll give you a push," he said, getting up.

"I'm twelve," she snapped. "And a half. Just because I'm smaller than those two doesn't mean you can treat me like a child."

She pulled herself back and began to swing slowly back and forth, enjoying the balmy summer wind on her cheek. She barely heard his next words.

"You know, when I first saw you, I was sure that you had been adopted, and that you were actually Russian."

Cissy was so taken aback that she kicked her heels into the dirt, stopping abruptly. "And why would that be?"

"Your hair. You know, Russian girls have the most beautiful hair. And each of you has hair of an entirely different colour. Bellatrix and Andromeda have the same nose and mouth, but you look different altogether."

He was still using the most irritating tone which most people reserved for children not yet old enough for Hogwarts. But Cissy was exceptionally proud of her hair. It was white-blonde, so fair it took on a silvery sheen when she stood in the moonlight, and in winter she allowed it to grow to waist-length.

"Do you think Andy will be a prefect too, like Bella?"

"Andromeda?" Cissy registered Karkaroff's avoidance of her pet name. "Perhaps. There are a lot of bright kids two years below my year. It's impossible to predict these things."

"I don't see how we can predict anything," said Cissy. "Divination is the first option I'm eliminating when choosing third-year subjects."

"So what do you want to do?"

"Runes and Arithmancy, probably. They're the only respectable ones, aren't they?"

"Only to Ravenclaws," he said, with a low, quiet laugh. "Good choices; I'm doing them too. If you ever need a tutor…"

* * *

**(Kiss) May 1968**

There was only one month until exams. Unfortunately the Slytherin common room on Saturdays was living up to its reputation as a useless place to study, so Cissy had set up camp in the library, where she was fortunate enough to have the mentoring of Igor Karkaroff, who was simply brilliant when it came to everything academic. When the bell rang that evening, they left the library chattering in earnest about Swelling Solutions.

"A word with you, Narcissa!"

Bella was leaning dangerously on a column outside. Cissy thanked Igor for helping her, and he flew off to his Ravenclaw dorm to stash his books before dinner.

"Surely your Potions are not so poor that you need to be tutored by a Ravenclaw."

Cissy was tempted to make a comment about Bella's incapacity to foster inter-house relations, but she held her tongue.

Bella chortled. "Little Cissy is in love with little Iggy! Cissy and Iggy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" But then her eldest sister's expression changed from glee to concern. "Surely you can do better than _him_? His family were big in Russia, but over here…mama always said you were the pretty one…"

"Why?" The thought of telling the truth about their nonexistent relationship crossed Cissy's mind, but Bella was inviting an argument, and would not be satisfied until she had bothered the socks off her opponent.

"For starters, his nose is as big as Professor Prince's."

"Well his hair isn't half as filthy," Cissy said, in the expressionless tone which Bella hated the most.

"He's as skinny as a fence-post."

"So am I."

"He is steering dangerously close to monobrow territory."

"He has nice eyes though. Very blue."

"I don't see what you see in him."

"I don't expect you to."

"What's this about?" A cheerful voice came bouncing around the corner. Unfortunately, Andy had stumbled upon her two sisters bickering in the hallway, and was only too enthusiastic to play the mediator.

"Narcissa is dating Igor Karkaroff."

"I don't believe it," she replied briskly. "Cissy's a kid. Why, Karkaroff's in fifth year! It's ridiculous. Who's been spreading these rumours? You two are making a fuss out of nothing. Cissy, go back to your common room."

"Andy, speaking of Karkaroff, I have some news that might interest you."

Andy's eyes grew as round as dinner-plates. "What?"

"You know how the Dark Lord came recruiting?"

The younger girl sighed, thinking it had been something more important. "How could I not know – you've talked about nothing but your Lordship."

"Well, I heard he asked Karkaroff if he wanted to join when he left school."

"But I thought he was only looking for students from his house, from Slytherin?"

"And, Karkaroff didn't give him a straight answer!"

"And…this would interest me, because…?"

"You do not refuse the Dark Lord! It is bringing a death sentence…"

"Bella, it's the nature of Ravenclaws; they take a long time to deliberate. I think you're mad."

"I think Cissy is mad."

"Where is Cissy, by the way?"

* * *

**(Heartbreak) November 1969**

The day after the Halloween Feast was a Saturday.

Cissy lay by the lake on a cushion of freshly fallen leaves, with the taste of fresh pumpkin still in the back of her throat. It had taken two years for her childish crush to mature and amount to anything, but time had only made things sweeter. Fourteen and a half she was, and savouring the memories of her first kiss. She might have been lying still under that tree, but her insides were dancing about, screaming for joy. Who would have guessed that feeling so completely muddled-up could in fact be the best feeling in the world?

"Hey Narcie, I think that cloud looks like a ship," said Igor, who was also lying on his back, looking up at the sky. He called her "Narcie" because he couldn't comprehend the appeal of being called a "Cissy".

"I wouldn't know," said the girl. "It all looks like vanilla ice-cream to me."

"Why vanilla?"

"I hate chocolate," she said, screwing up her face.

"Why?"

"I don't know. It seems so tired. All those clichés like '_I can't live without chocolate'. _Or '_She had chocolate-coloured eyes'._ Or, '_Life is like a box of chocolates – you never know…_'"

He laughed a guttural laugh that made her squirm delightedly.

"No really," she continued, "It breaks my heart to see how misunderstood and unfairly persecuted vanilla ice-cream is."

"Oh, don't talk about things like that," said Igor. "Like heartbreak, or misunderstandings, or persecution…not today…"

"Well then, what shall I talk about?"

He shrugged, his usual quiet self again.

"How we have one more month before winter is upon us?"

He started to hum a bright little melody.

"What's that – the latest offering from that Lubiantsev fellow?"

"No, actually, it's from – now don't say anything – a Muggle musical…"

She bristled, but said nothing.

"…called _The Sound of Music_; it goes, '_girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes, snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes, silver white winters that melt into springs…these are a few of my favourite things…_'"

He wasn't a great singer, but Cissy could tell the tune was catchy. "Where'd you hear that?"

"The Ravenclaw common room, of course."

"Sing me something else," said Cissy.

"_You wait little girl, on an empty stage, for fate to turn the light on…"_

The question of the title was barely in her head before he had answered it.

"…_you are sixteen going on seventeen_…"

"That's not quite appropriate, is it?"

"I suppose not. But you've always seemed older than your years; I suppose it comes of having two older sisters."

But Igor ran rings around her sisters when it came to understanding.

* * *

**(Break-Up) March 1970**

"Narcie…

Narcissa and Igor had had four months before the NEWTs intervened.

"…you know how brutal the NEWTs are…they're nothing short of their name…"

Cissy had seen it coming, naturally. He'd started losing sleep – and weight, by the looks of it – over the impending doom of the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests. Bella, who was also subject to the exams at the end of seventh year, had stopped harassing people, which had never happened before in Cissy's living memory. They all needed a break of sorts. This wasn't a break-up; it was more of a break.

"Shh, don't say anything," she said, putting her finger to his lips. "You say it best when you say nothing at all."

Of course, she'd regret it heartily later, cutting him off like that.

* * *

**(Box of Chocolates) February 1971**

"Someone…told me to give this to you, Cissy," said Wilhelmina Slinkhard when she came down to the common room on the morning of February the 14th. The other girl held out a small box. Upon removing the lid, Cissy discovered that it contained a variety of Honeydukes chocolates, and a bow made of green velvet.

Cissy thanked Wilhelmina and retreated up the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

Lucius Malfoy was now of age, in his sixth year, a prefect and, of course, extremely popular. He was the only child of Claudia Rookwood and Abraxas Malfoy, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, both Death Eaters, followers of the Dark Lord like Bella. But while Bella was usually sent on missions to take care of rebels, the Malfoys worked as spies, reporting on the Ministry. They lived in Wiltshire, in south-west England, in a three-hundred year old manor named after them. Everything about him, from his smooth alabaster forehead down to his shiny shoes, and his gift, was perfect.

Except that he didn't know that she hated chocolate.

_Which was, really, really, insignificant, wasn't it?_

Her birthday was coming up in two weeks, and for some reason, a most peculiar tune had popped into her head. _You are sixteen, going on seventeen, baby, it's time to think…_

She asked Casey Jugson, a Ravenclaw in her Arithmancy class who was rather fond of singing, how the rest of the song went. It turned out to be a duet between a girl and a boy, with the girl singing lines like:

"_I am sixteen going on seventeen; I know that I'm naive_

_Fellows I meet may tell me I'm sweet, and willingly I believe…"_

And the girl's last words really forced her to think:

_I need someone older and wiser…telling me what to do._

_You are seventeen going on eighteen; I'll – depend – on you._

* * *

**(Hug) June 1977**

She hugged her sister Bella. It would be the last time they would ever exchange such an intimate embrace. "Careful, Cissy, you're standing on my robes! Oh you queer, little, dreamy thing…"

"So it will be your turn next then, Narcissa dear!" said Aunt Walburga, who had taken to fussing over Cissy in the aftermath of Andromeda's and Sirius' disownment. Andromeda had married a Mudblood, Ted Tonks, straight out of school, and Sirius had simply left Hogwarts at the end of his fifth year and not come home.

"Oh, Aunt Walburga!" said Cissy, knowing precisely what the woman was referring to. For the past few years, she and Lucius Malfoy had maintained a bizarre on-off relationship, owing to how busy he was. As soon as he had left school, he had been welcomed into the Dark Lord's inner circle, and given a junior post at the Ministry. By day he dealt with paperwork, and by night dissenters. To show for his efforts, he had a dashing tattoo of the Dark Mark on his forearm, just like Bellatrix and her husband Rodolphus Lestrange.

She quite liked Lucius. He always flattered her when he was around, and he really had an eye for presents. He was one of the few things which her mother and Aunt Walburga agreed on. _"What a catch that young man is!"_ The wedding bells in their ears refused to cease.

Bella's wedding was a splendid affair, held in the Lestranges' mansion, with over a hundred guests. Most were family of varying distances. Cissy's eyes scanned the room.

"Reg!" she called out to her favourite dark-haired teenager. "Still too old for that nickname?"

"Are you still too old for hugs?" he asked brightly, turning around and into her arms. He was getting unnervingly tall; he was not yet quite sixteen, and already six feet tall. "You'll never guess," he said excitedly, "Bella said she's going to introduce me to the Dark Lord!"

"But…you're not of age…you haven't left school yet…?"

"That's not a problem," he dropped his voice. "They can arrange it so I have the Trace lifted early."

"Oh," said Cissy. But enthusiasm was beaming off his face, and it intoxicated Cissy as well, as she listened to his wonderful dreams.

"…and Karkaroff," he finished triumphantly. "In fact, speak of the devil, there he is now!"

"What's he doing here?" Cissy flinched at the sight of the dark young man on the other side of the room.

"I 'spect Bella invited him. You know, being in the same year, and all."

"Oh, right," said Cissy, running after him. "Hold my drink – I just – I'll be back in a second – please?"

He was making his way towards the doors out of the great ballroom, as if he knew she was pursuing him. "Are you leaving already?" she called out.

As he turned around to face her, obviously recognising her voice, she noticed the funny little beard he sported, that only accentuated his funny little chin. His black hair was longer, almost curly. How she'd missed his high cheekbones and narrow mouth! A million emotions welled up in her.

"I can't stay," Igor said, paling. "I've got a job tonight."

The waves of emotion broke their containment, and she started to babble, just to keep him talking. "What about the music? Rodolphus loves music! Just one dance? For me? You always were such an adorable dancer…" she coloured at the words that had escaped her.

"I'm sorry – Narcie – I can't – don't make me feel any worse than I already do."

Cissy had never seen him more miserable in his life.

"I can make you forget," she said, holding his hands now. "We can go back to…"

"Narcie, we can never go back." Suddenly, she was struck by his gaunt face, which seemed to have forgotten how to smile. "There's nothing you can do. Sail on, silver girl."

* * *

**(Ring) February 1979**

Cissy knew that her twenty-fourth year was not going to be an auspicious one, from the way it had begun. Firstly, her father had passed away in his sleep.

Secondly, little Regulus had deserted them, bringing a death sentence upon himself. And she should have spoken up; she should have begged them to give him more than a few days. She, Narcissa Black, had been like an older sister to him, she could have turned him back, renewed his faith in the Cause…

Her thoughts were interrupted by a hysterical scream.

"My boy! My only son! Dead!"

Cissy was staying at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Now, she was the only one who could comfort Aunt Walburga, rendered bedridden since the news of Regulus' death – Kreacher the house-elf was similarly inconsolable. Cissy didn't mind; it took her mind off other things. But the Dark Lord's envoy, Lucius Malfoy, had not mentioned anything about Regulus' defection to his mother – in fact, he had warned Cissy specifically to be discreet – and Cissy couldn't help but admire his sensitivity.

But for now, she sighed a sigh that no-one could hear, and held onto her aunt's bloated hand.

At last, Aunt Walburga drifted off into her morning nap, and Cissy was free to wander the house. Well, it was more like, to wander into Regulus' room, where she could imagine she was back in the safety of her common room, with its green and silver hangings. There she dared to unfurl and re-read the Daily Prophet article that had been the most recent blow.

_DEATH EATER GIVEN LIFE SENTENCE_

_In an unprecedented move, Death Eater Igor Karkaroff has been condemned to Azkaban for life without a trial, despite no definite link to any of the most recent deaths and disappearances._

_Mr Bartimus Crouch, who recently replaced Abraxas Malfoy as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, spoke confidently to the Prophet yesterday. _

"_It is just one of the many ways the Ministry is proving it is willing to fight fire with fire," he said. "Just one of the many new, tougher strategies we are implementing, among the new licences awarded to Aurors, the zero-tolerance policy when dealing with Death Eaters…"_

Cissy heard the doorbell go off, and hastily threw the newspaper underneath Regulus' bed before going to answer it.

"Happy Birthday, Narcissa," said a low voice coming through the redundant keyhole of the door. "May I please come in?"

Cissy swung it wide open, glad for some contact with somebody within five years of her age, but regretting it instantly as the winter wind blasted her with snow. "Hello Lucius," she said. She knew his sweet, cool voice, higher than Igor's, anywhere. And without being conscious of it, she had – fallen – there was no other word for it – into his arms. They were firm and strong, unlike Igor's thin ones. They gripped her tightly.

"I heard about Karkaroff," she said. "No trial. No evidence. Apart from the Mark on his arm, Nothing! You must be so – so worried – what's happening to us?"

"We'll be all right," said Lucius. "I know it must've been terrible – first Regulus and now this – but I promise, this time I have something nice to say."

"What news?" she demanded, clinging to him. She was beginning to feel the cold and she was afraid her teeth might chatter. "What news on the plans for Hogwarts?"

"If you don't mind," he said, "I think we should both get out of this abominable weather."

"Of course," she said, letting go of him at once and taking a step back through the door.

"Are you sure you don't want to be carried over the threshold? The Romans thought it was good luck."

Cissy allowed herself to be lifted, one behind her back and one under her knees. Lucius was as resplendent as always. As he walked down the corridor to the kitchen, his winter robes billowed about him, and he looked unruffled, even the snowflakes on his eyelashes seemed to sit comfortably.

"Narcissa, I've thought about this really hard; I know to you it might feel like it's all happening too quickly, but in uncertain times like these…"

Cissy drank in every word that passed his lips like a draught of hot butterbeer. And when she saw the ring in his hands, she saw strength and security, and everything she ever wanted, encompassed in that tiny, sparkling blue diamond, so unlike Igor's eyes.

**_Liesl: _**_Mother, what do you do when you think you love someone? I mean, when you stop loving someone or he stops loving you? _

**_Maria: _**_Well, you cry a little. Then you wait for the sun to come out. It always does._

**_Liesl: _**_There are so many things I think I should know but I don't. I really don't. How can you? Sometimes I feel the world is ending. Then you feel it's just beginning? _

**_Maria: _**_Yes! It was that way with me. And for you it will be just as wonderful. _

**_(THE SOUND OF MUSIC)_**


	12. George and Katie

**A Gift**

**(George/Katie)**

**By mackgirl **

**February 12, 2004**

Valentine's Day was two days away and Katie sat on the couch trying to decide what she was going to give to George. It was their second Valentine's Day together as a married couple, and she was drawing a blank. The fact that her ribs were bruised, feet swollen, back aching and that she looked more like a beached whale then the stunning girl that George had married almost two years prior, were not playing in George's favor, since Katie was blaming all of it on George.

Katie went to take another sip of her tea, and discovered her cup was empty, sighing she proceeded to try and stand up. With great effort, Katie began the rocking motion and after two failed attempts, grabbed her wand and tried to summon the tea pot from the kitchen stove. It worked, sort of. The tea pot reached her just fine, put all the tea had spilt from the pot while it was floating from the kitchen to the living room.

Sighing Katie once again tried the rocking motion to stand up from the couch. Then noticing her old DA galleon sitting beside her, Katie reached for it and started to admire it. George was carrying his as well, and had told Katie if she needed anything to use the galleon to summon him, not that it really mattered since George would run up stairs every hour to make sure she hadn't gone into labor.

That only made Katie think about how she still had twelve more days before her due date. Twelve more days that she would have to spend in the bathroom since her morning sickness had returned, twelve more days for the baby to bruise her ribs even more, twelve more days of George treating her as if she was going to break at any moment. As Katie tossed the galleon across the room she made her decision, George was not getting anything for Valentine's Day, not after doing this to her.

Just as she managed to get up off the couch, George came into the flat to check on her. "Katie, what are you doing up? If you need anything use the galleon and I'll get it for you." George said as he rushed over to Katie and tried to give her a kiss.

Katie turned her head and said, "George, I have to pee and throw up. Get out of the way." George instead helped Katie to the bathroom and held her dark raven hair out of her face while Katie emptied her stomach.

Once she was done in the bathroom, George helped Katie back to the couch, retrieved the galleon and got Katie a fresh pot of tea. "Anything else you need Hun?" George asked.

"No." Katie answered but added, "But, if we have any of the peach ice cream left the baby wants some of that." George went to the kitchen to retrieve the ice cream but before he even made it back to the living room, Katie had shouted that she also wanted some of George's homemade hash browns, the bag of sunflower seeds, and a Pepsi (a muggle drink she had become addicted to in the first few months of her pregnancy.)

Once George had all the items that Katie had asked for and had them with in arms reach of her he said, "So, I thought we could go to that new restaurant down the road for Valentine's Day."

"I'm not going anywhere on Valentine's Day." Katie stated.

"Why?" George asked.

"Because I look like a beached whale! If we are going out let's go out tomorrow night instead, there will be less people then." Katie said with a sigh.

George gave her a kiss and when he pulled away said with a grin, "I've never seen you more beautiful Katie Bell. Why would you deny me the opportunity to show off my beautiful wife to the world?"

Katie couldn't help but grin, "But if we go out on Valentine's Day we won't have any privacy. People will keep coming up to us asking if we know what we're having, how much longer before the baby is due and they will do Unspeakable Number 1."

George tried very hard not to laugh at the last thing Katie had said since her smile had faded and she was gloomy once again. "And what is Unspeakable Number 1?"

"Every female will come up to me and rub my stomach! It won't matter if I know the girl or not they will walk right up rub my belly and ask the same questions. Then if I remove their hand, it some how finds its way back on my belly! And if I tell them to take their hand off my belly they start going on and on about how rude I'm being! If I put my hand on THEIR belly, they tell me to take it off and go on about how rude it is for someone they don't know to touch their stomach, when they still have their bloody hand on mine!" Katie said.

George gave Katie a crooked grin and another kiss, "Okay, we'll go out tomorrow night and I promise to have a fool proof plan to stop any and all girls that try to touch your stomach."

Katie looked up at George from her spot on the couch, "Promise?"

"Promise." George said grinning, "Have I told you yet I love you?"

"Not since the last time you came up from the shop." Katie answered.

George kissed Katie once again and whispered, "I love you Katie Bell."

"I love you to George Weasley." Katie answered. With that George left the flat to head back to work and Katie proceeded to balance the container of peach ice cream on her belly. As she took a couple of bites of it she smiled, at least this huge bump is good for something.

**February 13, 2004**

Katie stepped out of the bedroom that evening wearing a pair of maternity dress robes George had bought her for their date tonight. She had her shoulder length raven hair pulled up into a French twist, not because it was the best way to wear her hair, but because with it all pulled up, she wouldn't have to hold her hair back when she ran to the bathroom later that night.

George, who had been waiting in the living room, was also wearing a pair of dress robes. When Katie walked in he grinned and handed her a single white daisy, Katie's favorite. "You're beautiful." George exclaimed.

Katie grinned, "Really?"

"Of course!" George answered and he was telling the truth, the only time that even compared to the sight of Katie walking towards him in the light blue robes, nine months pregnant, was the day Katie had walked towards him in her wedding gown. "In fact I don't think a daisy does this justice."

George conjured up a perfect red rose and handed it to Katie. Katie grinned and as soon as she touched the rose, small sparks in every shade of red and pink began to emit from the rose. "Naturally this can't be just a normal rose."

George kissed her, "Of course not. Its part of our special Wonder Witch Valentine line. They go on sell tomorrow but I wanted you two have the first."

"If I put it in my hair is my hair going to catch on fire?" Katie asked.

"No, it's just an illusion." George said then taking the rose from Katie he gently placed it behind one of her ears, tucking the stem neatly into her hair. "You ready?"

Katie nodded, and when she saw George pick up a huge box of chocolates she gave him a puzzled look, but George just smiled and told her not to worry about the chocolates. With that they left the flat, walked through the shop and out onto Diagon Alley. Katie had her arm linked through George's and they talked and laughed the entire way to the restaurant.

Once they were inside and had their names down on the waiting list, it happened. George and Katie were gazing at each other when there was an excited squeal and before the couple could find the origin of it, a random hand had been placed on Katie's belly.

"Oh, I'm just going to rub it for good luck." The girl that looked to be a couple of years older then George said, "We are trying for our own. So what are you ha…"

"Say, why don't you try one of these?" George answered and pulled out the box of chocolates. "My wife had one of these and then the next thing we knew, she's pregnant."

The girl removed her hand from Katie's belly and said, "Really? You don't mind me taking one?"

George smiled, "Not at all."

The girl greedily grabbed a chocolate from the box. "Well thank you and congratulations on the baby." She said as she walked off to join her husband.

"Three, two, one…" George said to Katie quietly, and sure enough as soon as George got to one, the random girl turned into a canary. After a couple of seconds she returned back to her normal form and sent a look of death towards George and Katie who had started to laugh historically.

"Thank you George." Katie said.

"I told you I'd take care of it didn't I?" George said grinning, "Besides, I needed someone to test the chocolate version of Canary Creams on. I figured anyone who places a hand on your belly unwanted will become a test subject."

Just then the host called their name and they were lead to a table half way in the restaurant. In that short of time, a woman who was their for her anniversary, and someone who looked old enough to be George's Great Aunt Muriel were turned into a canary thanks to George's box of chocolates.

The couple sat chatting quietly and laughing as more and more random people became a test subject. About half way through dessert though, George noticed the pained expression on Katie's face.

"Are you okay?" George asked concerned and a little panicked.

"I'm fine, just a little contraction." Katie answered, "It's no big deal they've been happening all day. This cheesecake is delicious don't you think?"

"CONTRACTIONS?!" George shouted causing everyone in the restaurant to turn and look at them, "Why didn't you tell me sooner? We have to get you to St. Mungo's."

"Don't be silly George, they will just send me home since my water hasn't broken. Now, let's finish our date." Katie said a little agitated, but just then she was unable to hide her painful expression again.

George grabbed Katie's hand, "That's it, we are going to St. Mungo's." Then against Katie's protests he lead her out of the restaurant telling the host to send their bill over the shop tomorrow since his wife was having their child.

Once they arrived at St. Mungo's Labor and Delivery, the Healer in charge took one look at Katie and admitted her right away. With in twenty minutes, it was determined that Katie was all ready at 5 cm and by 10:00 pm, she was admitted to a room and given a pain reducing potion.

Katie was calm through the entire ordeal and was just a little upset about the fact the Healers wouldn't let her eat anything. George meanwhile was having a melt down, and had to be given a Calming Draught. "Not to worry dear, we normally have to give the father a couple of Calming Draughts before the baby arrives. I'd make yourself comfortable, since it's your first child it will probably be another twenty four hours at least, before the baby arrives." Healer Jones told Katie. "Someone will be by to check on you in a little while, but if the pains return just shout out for me."

Katie thanked Healer Jones and then shouted, "NO! Don't eat those!" Healer Jones had reached for a chocolate from George's box of chocolates but turned to give Katie a questioning look. "My husband's latest creation, Canary Chocolates." Katie said and Healer Jones gave her a grateful smile, then left the room.

For the next hour, George and Katie sat around talking and playing cards. "Aren't you tired?" George asked at one point.

"I'm to excited to sleep." Katie answered. "You can go to sleep if you want though."

"No, I'll stay up with you." George said then he whispered, "This is one of those moments."

Katie reached over and grabbed a hold of George's hand, thinking back on the other times George had said those words.

"_Higher!" Katie had shouted as George pushed her on the muggle swing. _

"_What are you trying to do, reach the stars?" George had teased as he pushed her harder._

"_Yup." Katie had responded. It had been two months since she had started dating George Weasley, and she couldn't believe it. If anyone had told her while they were in school that she would one day be dating George, she probably would had laughed at them. Fred and George had always been like older brothers to her in school, but all that changed after the Final Battle and George was left alone._

_Katie started to frown then, and George seeing her face dragged the swing to a stop. Once the swing had stopped, George knelt down in front of Katie, "This is one of those moments."_

_Katie knew by the look on George's face he had been thinking about Fred as well, "One of what moments?" Katie asked._

"_One of those times I wish Fred was here so bad because I want to tell him all about it." George explained. "There are moments that just are to important for Fred not to know."_

_Katie took a hold of George's hand, "I'm sure Fred knows." George just nodded and then Katie added, "So what's so important that you want to share with Fred?"_

_George looked deep into Katie's hazel eyes, "That I've fallen in love with Katie Bell. I love you Katie."_

"_I love you to George." Katie responded. _

_They sat like that for a while, the George said, "Sorry I ruined that moment by bringing up Fred."_

_Katie smiled, "You didn't ruin it, and in fact I think you made it perfect." Most people probably found that odd, but not Katie, the fact that George wanted to share that news with Fred, meant he was telling the truth._

_XXXXXXXXXXX_

_Katie was once again on the muggle swing, only this time George was also on it and Katie was sitting on his lap. They were just rocking slightly and sitting there quietly. It had been nine months since the last time they had been here and George had first told Katie that he loved her. _

_George wrapped his arms tighter around Katie and whispered in her ear, "Katie?"_

"_Yeah George?" Katie answered back just as quietly._

"_Will you marry me?" George asked._

_Katie turned to face him so fast that she fell off of George's lap and landed with a loud thud on the ground. George quickly knelt down beside her and helped Katie sit up. "You okay?"_

_Katie nodded, "Yes, and yes George, I'll marry you."_

_They shared a passionate kiss, then George slipped a small ring onto Katie's finger. They sat there holding each other, when George said, "This is one of those moments."_

_Katie, just grabbed his hand and together they looked up at the stars, "He knows." was all she said._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

_Two months later, all eyes were on Katie as she slowly made her way done the aisle. She had one arm linked through her father's, but her eyes were on George, waiting for her at the alter. _

_Once they reached George, Katie's father gave her a hug then placed her hand into George's before going and taking a seat next to her mother. The ceremony was short, and after the minister pronounced them man and wife and they had kissed, George whispered, "This is one of those moments."_

_Katie grinned and squeezed his hand, "He knows George." and as if to confirm this, a herd of garden gnomes charged through the chairs, and shouted curse words in between biting people's ankles._

_George grinned and nodded, "Yeah, he knows."_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

_George had just spent a tiring day down in the shop. He couldn't wait to just collapse onto the couch and relax with Katie. Walking into the flat though, George found Katie sitting on the couch grinning like a mad woman._

"_Are you alright there?" George asked and Katie nodded._

"_Come here, I got you something." Katie said and George made his way over to the couch, sitting next to Katie._

_Katie handed George a gift bag and watched with anticipation as George opened it up and pulled out a T-shirt. "You got me a shirt?" George asked a little confused._

"_Read what it says." Katie urged and George held up the shirt so he could read what was written on the front._

_Written in big bold black letters was, I'm going to be a DADDY! George read the words several times before looking at Katie grinning, "Are you serious?" George asked and Katie nodded._

"_WE'RE PREGNANT?" George shouted half laughing and Katie nodded again. George swooped Katie into his arms and said, "I can't believe it."_

"_Me either, but according to the Healers, the baby should be here the end of February." Katie responded._

_George's tiredness was forgotten and they proceeded to celebrate the news. Later that night when they were laying in bed, George whispered, "This is one of those moments."_

_Katie laughed then, "Oh, he knows, he knows George and I bet he couldn't be happier for you."_

Katie looked into George's eyes. This was the fifth time he had ever told her those words and she smiled, "He knows George. In fact I have a suggestion for a name."

"What?" George asked just realizing they never had settled on a name for their baby.

"Well if it's a girl, I like the name Roxanne." Katie said.

"I like that also." George agreed.

"And a boy, I think we should name him Fred." Katie said.

George looked at her in disbelief, "Are you sure?"

"Of course, did you think there was going to be any doubt?" Katie asked.

"It's just I don't know if I could call him Fred if it's a boy." George said.

"Freddie then?" Katie asked.

George leaned in and gave Katie a kiss, "If it's a boy, Freddie it is."

**February 14, 2004**

Healer Jones had just finished checking Katie's progress and said, "Well, I might just be wrong Mrs. Weasley. You've reached 7 cm now and it's just after midnight. I think you will be having this baby before the morning is over."

Katie grinned, "Really?"

Healer Jones nodded, "Are you feeling any pains or anything?"

Katie shook her head, "No, the potion is working wonders."

Healer Jones smiled, "Glad to hear it, now if you need anything just send your husband out to get one of us. In the mean time, you can have ice chips, but nothing else and we'll be checking you every half hour. If you start to feel increased pressure or pain send for us immediately."

"I will." Katie answered and Healer Jones left the room leaving George and Katie alone.

"I can't believe it's almost time." Katie almost squealed.

"I know love." George said giving her a kiss, "By the way Happy Valentine's Day."

"You to George. I love you." Katie said.

"I love you to Katie." George responded and they began to talk again about everything and anything.

Four hours later Katie was in the middle of a sentence when she let out a scream, "George! Go get Healer Jones."

George was off before she had even finished the sentence and had returned with the Healer right behind his heels. Healer Jones did a quick check and said, "It's time. George, I need you to help her, make sure she breathes. Katie, the next contraction I need you to push do you understand?"

The couple nodded and in another forty five minutes, Healer Jones shouted, "It's a boy born 4:42 am! Congratulations." Once the baby was wrapped in a blanket and handed to Katie, she asked, "Do you have a name?"

"Freddie." Katie answered. "For George's brother."

"Wonderful name." Healer Jones said, "Now, you'll be in here for another hour, we need to make sure you both stay stable before releasing you to your room."

Healer Jones left the couple alone, and George looked down on his wife and son. "This is the best Valentine's gift you could have given me Katie."

Katie leaned up and kissed George, "Good, because I didn't get you anything else." They sat admiring their son, then an hour later, true to Healer Jones word, Katie was moved to a recovery room. Once in the room though, Katie realized how tired she was, George took Freddie from her and told her to get some rest, he'd take care of Freddie while she slept.

A couple of hours later, Katie woke up and saw the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. George was reclining in a chair, fast a sleep. Freddie was lying on his chest, and George had both arms wrapped around his tiny body. Katie wiped a tear away as she watched the two boys she loved more then anything, sleep peacefully in a chair. She couldn't help but say at that moment, "This is one of those moments."


	13. Merope and Tom

**Riddle**

**(Merope/Tom)**

**By HaruhiXHikaru **

* * *

Merope Gaunt's face was glued to the window for the third time that day. From behind her, she was vaguely aware of her brother Morfin muttering something spiteful, but she ignored him as her eyes finally locked with her target. Thomas Riddle.

Tall, dark and handsome, Thomas had instantly attracted Merope's eye. He was incredibly well known in Little Hangleton, and almost every girl yearned to be his bride. Merope however, had one advantage. She was considered to be the prettiest girl in the village and had already had an abnormal number of proposals for a 16 year old witch. Yes, Thomas was a muggle- and she knew that her family would not approve. That did not matter to her. She had considered a love potion- but decided that would be spiteful and deceitful. So for now, she would have to make do with her "window-watching" as she called it.

Thomas had by now stopped his horse and was leaning over by the side of the road to pick wildflowers. Merope sighed. He was indeed, perfect. Luckily he had survived the hive hex her brother had performed on him only last week. Merope had been asking for him everyday- but his mother had told her he was too embarrassed for visitors. Now, as Merope sat at the window, she soured with confidence and leapt up. Grabbing the box of chocolates, she had made Thomas for Valentine's she ran out of the front door with great determination.

"Thomas!" she called as she ran outside, her long hair flying behind her and her purple dress blowing in the wind.

Thomas looked up and smiled. "Good morning Merope!" he greeted. "Looking cheerful today I see!"

Thomas was three years Merope's senior. Which made him 19. Too old for her, Merope's mother had insisted but she had not listened.

"I brought you a gift," Merope blushed and held out the box of chocolates. "For Valentines- I made you some chocolates!"

Thomas grinned and accepted them. "Wow, they look delicious," he exclaimed, popping one into his mouth. "They taste delicious too! You're a great cook Merope!"

Merope blushed again. "Thank you," she mumbled staring at the floor.

Thomas paused and looked around. "You don't wanna come out for a ride with me does you?" he asked. "Only, I was gonna take my horse see- but he needs a companion too."

Merope was delighted. "I will go and get my horse right away!" she cried happily. "Just let me ask mother first."

She rushed up the gravel pathway and opened her front door.

"I am going out mother!" she called. "I will be back for tea!" her mother was about to protest, but Merope closed the door quickly and went to untie her white mare.

She led the horse out to the road and climbed on, so that the two horses were standing beside each-other. "Now they can have a conversation too," Merope laughed.

Thomas grinned. "I think they can," he agreed. "Cummon, we'd better go, before it gets dark."

He nudged his horse, which began to walk steadily down the road, Merope followed close behind. Soon, they had left the village and were passing fields full of wildflowers.

"It's beautiful," Merope sighed, stopping her horse to admire the view.

"Here," Thomas grinned climbing off his horse and picking something from the side of the road. "A beautiful rose for a beautiful lady."

The rose was indeed beautiful. It was not a red rose (which Merope was quite grateful for, as she hated the colour red), but was pink and purple and white.

"It matches your dress," smiled Thomas. "And your eyes." He swallowed. "Happy valentine's day."

Merope accepted the rose and blushed.

"Here," Thomas said holding out a hand. "Come with me. I have something to show you."

Merope took his hand and climbed down from her horse. She had expected Thomas to let go, once she was down but he stayed holding on. His hand felt warm, and their fingers entwined as Thomas led her down a grassy bank onto a field. In the middle of the field was an old oak, with a tyre on a rope underneath it, like a swing. Thomas led her to it, still holding her hand.

"Get on," he grinned.

"What?"

"Get on the swing. Go on, it's not gonna bite ya!"

Merope swung her leg over the tyre and climbed on. She held on as Thomas climbed on behind her.

"Now hold on," Thomas warned as he leant forward and pushed off from the tree.

They swung higher and higher, using their bodies to propel the swing further into the air. Soon Merope was laughing, he hair swinging out behind her in the wind as she held on to Thomas for dear life. And he was laughing down at her too, smiling with those beautiful eyes that she loved so much.

Before Merope knew what was happening, Thomas had pressed his lips against her own and they were kissing. Kissing like she had never kissed anyone before, as the swing rose higher and higher- until Merope was sure that it could reach the heavens. Well, with Thomas on board it could. She just knew it.


	14. Charis and Casper

** A Dark Green Box and a Silver Ring**

**(Charis Black/Casper Crouch)**

**By Espoir Noir**

* * *

Charis felt as if she were in a library. That oppressive, stuffy feeling she always got when she walked into a room full of books was pushing down on her. And she had that urgent need to scream, to fill the silence with sound, which she always had in libraries. Dora would say she was being silly, that books were inspiring. She'd get that look of passion in her eyes and begin to lecture Charis on the importance of reading and knowledge.

"Charis, are you listening to me?" Her mother's voice broke her reverie.

"Yes." How could she not? Her mother had a high, whine of a voice that grated on your ears every time she spoke.

"Then go and get dressed!"

Charis rose from her seat, knowing now was not a good time to disobey her mother. She climbed the stairs to her room slowly, trying to put off the inevitable moment when she would have to see Caspar again. They'd told her she was lucky. "You should be grateful anyone wants you after what your sister did." She wasn't stupid. The only reason Caspar Crouch wanted _her_ was because she was beautiful. Dora was pretty, and Ella had brilliant eyes, but she, Charis, was beautiful. Her black, wavy, hair nearly reached her waist, and stood out sharply against the paleness of her skin. Her eyes were a deep brown, wide and clear. She had a slender figure, and she was neither too sort nor too tall. Charis knew though that it was her lips that gave her such startling beauty. They were full, and rounded, and curved easily into a smile. And they were naturally dark, to the extent that she hardly ever needed lipstick. Her Uncle Herbert had once told her that the way she held them, ever so slightly parted, would make him want to kiss her if she weren't his niece.

She reached her room and took out a velvet, plum-coloured dress. Her mother would chide her later because Caspar liked her in crimson, but she wasn't in the mood for pleasing Caspar. She changed excruciatingly slowly. She smiled to herself, imagining her mother making awkward conversation downstairs. Caspar wasn't exactly a man of words, although he was charming enough when occasion arose. Eventually she decided she could put it off no longer, and began to make her way down the stairs.

They were in the drawing room, talking quietly. Caspar stood quickly when she entered, and she curtsied.

"Mr. Crouch", she said.

He bowed. "Miss Black."

He took her hand, which she had proffered rather unwillingly, and kissed it.

Her mother took that moment to excuse herself, saying she had 'household duties.' Charis sighed inwardly. That meant there was no chance they would be interrupted. Her father was at work, Dora had moved out when she married four summers ago, and Ella, well, there was no possibility that Ella would come to her rescue.

The two stood in silence. Charis enjoyed the look of confusion and anxiety that came over Caspar's face when he wasn't sure what to do.

"I have something for you", he said hurriedly.

What a surprise. He always brought her something. Usually jewellery. She wouldn't have minded except that she had to remember exactly what he'd given her so that she could wear it when she saw him.

"Oh?" she said, feigning surprise. He nodded and bent down to retrieve a dark green box from beside a chair, which she hadn't noticed when she walked in.

"Happy Valentine's Day", he said softly, handing the heart-shaped box to her.

Of course. How could she forget? Unbidden a memory rushed into her mind of a conversation. It had happened so long ago she was surprised she remembered it. Lucille McMillan had slid onto the Slytherin table excitedly. "Have you heard?" she'd asked, not waiting for Charis to reply. "Aubrey Crouch has proposed to Alexandria Rosier! On Valentine's Day!" She'd leaned in conspiratorially. "Apparently it's tradition for the Crouches to propose on Valentine's Day. Isn't that romantic?" The memory faded. Today was Valentine's Day.

His eyes were on her and so she gently prised the lid off the box. Inside were twelve heart-shaped chocolates. Each one was half dark brown and half white, and each carried the words 'I love you', written in curling letters.

She desperately didn't want to look up at him. The answer she was supposed to give was dreadfully obvious, but Merlin would rise from his grave before she said it. Finally, she raised her eyes to his, and attempted to conjure some sincerity to her face.

"Thank-you", she said, "They're beautiful." She didn't tell him that she didn't eat chocolate. She hadn't eaten it since Ella had left. Late at night, Ella used to sneak up to Charis' room, and they'd eat stolen chocolate together, giggling as they imagined Dora's face if she saw them.

He smiled, and for a moment she felt sorry for him, that he believed her words. She felt sorry that he loved her when she couldn't return the feeling.

"Please, take a seat", she said, sitting down elegantly herself. He followed suit, but sat on the very edge of his chair, as if it would be impolite to be further back.

"I was going to bring roses", he said earnestly, "but I thought you mightn't like them because they're so traditional."

He was perfectly correct, for once. Dora would have thought roses were 'lovely' and Ella would have considered them terribly romantic, but Charis thought they were very passé.

"The chocolates are beautiful", she reiterated.

"I would have brought you jewellery", he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, "but you said last time that I was spoiling you too much."

It had been an attempt to get rid of him for a while. If he didn't have anything to bring her, he didn't have any reason to come. It had worked too. Not that she was surprised. Her father was always saying what a pity it was that she hadn't studied harder, because she had a brilliant mind.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, and clapped for the house elf without waiting for his reply.

"No", he said.

It was the first time he had ever refused her something. He was incredibly eager to please, something Charis criticised him for behind his back at every opportunity. But she wasn't sure if she liked this change in character.

"I mean", he said quickly, "I'd love some tea, but how about we take a walk in the gardens first? It's such a nice day."

Charis looked out the window. A fine mist clung to everything, and the dark clouds in the sky looked as if they might burst open at any moment.

"As you wish", she said, and stood gracefully. He looked relieved. Charis glanced at the house-elf who was waiting patiently for instructions. "My cloak", she told it.

She had no idea what she was going to say to him. Well, she did. She just wasn't sure how she was going to say it. She wished she hadn't forgotten it was Valentines Day, wished that she'd had more time to prepare herself.

They were in the garden, although garden was rather an understatement. It was more of a park. Highthorn House was set on an immense tract of a land, with most of the space devoted to gardens, despite the substantial manor that was situated at the front of the property.

Caspar looked at her a moment, and then, as if making a decision, led the way down a cobbled path. Charis followed curiously. A sense of dread began to settle into her stomach as she realised where he was going. The Courtyard.

The Courtyard had been built, according to her great aunt Elladora, in the late fifteenth century by Cygnus Black as a gift for his wife, Abelinda Nott. As such, every stone was covered with roses of varying colours, and there were numerous niches perfect for secret meetings. It was the epitome of romance, and whenever they'd played games as a child, the Courtyard had been where they'd had weddings. Ella had spoken countless times of how when _she _was engaged, she'd be proposed to in the Courtyard. Of course, it hadn't happened. If you're going to betray your family by running off with a blood-traitor they're not going to let you back into the garden just so you can live out your childhood fantasy. It was ironic, thought Charis, that she, who had never wanted such romantic nonsense, was getting what seemed a double helping, while Ella had been married in a shabby, poky, little office at the Ministry.

Caspar was gazing steadily at a stone wall when Charis caught up with him. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, and Charis was surprised at the look of seriousness on his face. He twisted his hands.

"Charis", he began, using her first name for only the second time, "I have courted you now for seven months. Each time I see you my heart beats faster. Every time you speak I feel as if a harp is playing. Your beauty is beyond compare. Your passion for life inspires and awes me. Charis Ursula Black", he dropped to his knees before her, "Will you marry me?"

He'd managed quite a lot of sincerity for a rehearsed speech, Charis thought. Even his eyes seemed more alight than usual. But it wasn't as if she really had a choice. This was only protocol, designed to appease her.

"Yes", she said. She was a Black. It was her duty. That should have been the only thought in her mind, but instead she felt a pain in her chest, as if someone had died. It was her duty, she reminded herself again. She had to do what her sister had failed at. She couldn't be the traitor Ella had been. It would ruin her family, socially and emotionally. And it would ruin her. She didn't know any other life, she couldn't. She was a Black. And she would remain so.

"Yes", she repeated, smiling. Caspar didn't notice that her eyes remained cool.

He rose to his feet, and slipped a slim, silver ring on her finger. It was engraved with roses, and was inset with a smooth piece of ruby.

"The jewel glows", he said, "Whenever I'm thinking of you." Charis had a feeling it would be glowing rather a lot.

"I'm engaged", she told her mother once Caspar had left.

Lysandra clasped her youngest daughter to her chest in a rare display of emotion.

"Oh Cherry", she said, "I'm so glad". Charis' face remained impassive. "And he proposed on Valentine's Day too, how romantic!"

"It's tradition", said Charis shortly.

"Darling, aren't you happy?" asked her mother, slightly concerned.

Charis had never considered her mother anything but bright, but the current question forced her to rethink that opinion. Happy? How could she be happy? The marriage had been decided on when she was barely eighteen. She had been given no alternative apart from "You wouldn't want to let us down like Cedrella, would you?" She didn't even _like_ Caspar, let alone _love_ him, and now she was expected to tend to his every whim and bear his children. And her mother thought she should be happy?

"No", she replied, and left the room.

It was the dark green box on the bed that made her cry. Its sweet treasures that must have been chosen with anxious care. And the tiny words that were a reminder of the life she would never have. Tears ran down her face, little raindrops of sadness. She sobbed until she felt she could have filled an ocean. She was only upset, she thought to herself, because she didn't eat chocolate.


	15. Remus and Sirius

**10Things I Hate About You **

**(Remus/Sirius) **

**By Marie Strawberry Ocean **

* * *

Remus shaved himself, as Sirius entered the Boys' Bathroom.

Feeling awkward, as Sirius got into the shower, Remus said, "Could you possibly uh...have your shower later?"

"Right, okay," Sirius said, covering his towel over his waist and shutting the bathroom door.

God, Remus felt so embarrassed recently, when talking to Sirius. Was it his hair? Or his twinkling eyes?

He had to tell James and Peter.

xxx-xxx-xxx

"Moony have you been paying attention to me for the past twenty minutes?" Remus jumped, as James glared at him.

Remus mumbled, "Yes."

"What have I been talking about?"

"Uhh...how Lily's rejected you again?"

"She didn't reject me, it was more-"

Peter piped up, giggling, "It was more that she screamed in his face and kicked him in his bits."

"Ahh, I see. Listen, I've got something to tell you."

Peter giggled once more, "Oh goody-goody! Another Marauders' meeting! Let's get Padfoot!"

Remus said hurriedly, "No, don't Peter."

"There's something strange about you today Moony," James narrowed his eyes at Remus, suspriciously.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"No," Remus squeaked, which was a great impression of Peter when he was wetting himself.

"What is it?" Peter patted Remus continuously on the shoulder.

"Have you become obsessed with Snivellus? Traitor!" James covered his mouth, pretending to be shocked.

"What-? No!"

"You're joining my mini club?" Peter grinned.

"Uh, no Peter, sorry, I'm not going to be able to join your 'From Fat to Thin' club. But, I can see...-cough- that you're progressing with the diet."

Peter blushed and rubbed his belly. "Gee, thanks Moony."

"What's the problem then, Moony?"

"Well...it's just..."

"Yes; please hurry up. I've got a box of chocolates to give Lily. It is Valentine's Day tomorrow."

"Valentine's Day," Remus mouthed the words. "Oh god, I forgot!"

"Why Remus? Are you giving anyone anything special?" Peter squeaked.

"Nah."

"Oh. What about Charli Burns?"

"Hell no!" Remus said, horrified. "She hex's people for just speaking to her."

"Are you fucking serious?" James asked.

"Uh...that's an awkward question James, but I'd actually love to."

"What?"

"Never mind."

James grimaced. "I saw a lot of letters on your bedside table, mostly from guys."

Remus choked. "Guys...as in male guys?"

"No, Remus, female guys is the one," James said sarcastically. "Didn't you know they were there?"

"No, I was in the bathroom."

"Yeah, and for quite a long time too," Peter chuckled.

"What?"

"Oh, nothing," James grinned at Peter, as Remus eyed the two with great suspicion.

"The thing is...don't get mad or anything...but I've recently found out I'm gay. Don't get mad," Remus said, a tad too worriedly.

James shrugged. "I'm not mad-." And then, he took in what Remus had just said. "What? DON'T GET MAD? Remus, old chap, what has got into your were-wolfy mind? Is it your time of the bloody month or something?"

Remus' voice became low. "Shut up, Prongs, I don't want the whole student body knowing my secret."

"Yes, your furry secret."

"Where is Sirius?" Peter looked around.

"No idea," James said, looking terribly bored by Peter's answer. "Remus, is it William Zabini? Your lover I mean."

"Ew-no."

"Torin Abott?"

"No."

"Izzy Williams?"

"That's a girl Peter."

"What, are you a gay?"

"God, Peter, please pay more attention to the conversation you, Moony and I are having. Is he...Jonty Kingsley?"

"He's hot, but not my type."

"Nathan Padinski?"

"He's rather lanky, but a great Potions' partner."

"Me?"

"James, why would I do that to you? To Lily?"

"To Lily?"

"Yeah," Remus blurted out. "She's had a major crush on...Rack Budoo," Remus caught himself just in time.

"What?"

"I meant she's had a major crush on Peter's frog Rack Budoo."

"I don't have a frog named Rack Budoo," Peter pointed out.

"Right Peter. Just humiliate me, why don't you."

"Have you got a crush on Peter?"

"Peter...uh...maybe not sorry," Peter blushed and looked away.

"Padfoot?"

"..."

"Oh Lord," Peter said.

James pointed out, "You don't even know what that means, Wormtail."

Peter mousy nose went all crimson red.

"Oh Lord Moony...please don't make me think who I think you have a major crush on."

Remus nodded and looked down at his, uh..fascinating shoe laces.

"Padfoot?"

Remus nodded once more.

"Sirius?" Peter asked.

Remus glared at Peter.

Peter looked innocent. "What?"

James grinned. "You've got some serious problems. Since when have you this crush?"

"About six months."

"And you call that recently?"

Remus glared at James. "Well, I'm surprised you HAVE been listening to me."

xxx-xxx-xxx

"Evans!" Sirius ran up to Lily, as she walked up to the Astronomy Tower, a book clutched to her chest.

"What do you want, Black?" Lily actually looked happy, for once, her long red hair cascading down her back.

"Okay, give me a straight answer. Do you fancy Remus?"

"Uh...no. Why?" Lily twirled her hair around her finger.

"Because...I mean, him being your partner in every subject except Potions."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Black, where is this conversation leading to?"

"To your head," Sirius laughed.

Lily raised one of her ginger eyebrows. "Seriously, where is this conversation leading to?"

Sirius eyed her. "Can I trust you?"

"Make up your own mind, Black," Lily shrugged.

"You see...I've had a recent crush on Remus."

Lily snorted with laughter. "Recent?"

Sirius put his hands in the air. "What did I say?"

"Come on, Sirius, every single lesson, I see you sulking as the teachers pair you up with Snivellus. And then I also see you making moon eyes at Remus when he's not looking. Come on, Hogwart's 'Flirt Boy' is a bit too obvious when it comes to gay issues, don't you think?"

"Debatable," Sirius grinned.

Lily rolled her eyes. "So...what are you going to do now?"

"I'm going to declare the secret to James and Peter, and then I'll keep it quiet from Remus. I'd better rush," Sirius began to leave.

Lily said, "Hey Black?"

"Yeah?"

"I know just what you should do on today's occasion," Lily grinned at him and pulled him by the arm, as they both ran to James and Peter.

Lily Evans sure was in a good mood, to be able to go to chat with James.

xxx-xxx-xxx

"Prongs, Wormie, don't get mad okay?" Sirius said, cautiously.

James narrowed his eyes at Sirius, like he had done to Remus. "What is it Pads?"

"I-I…uh…"

Lily grinned and squealed, "What he wants to tell you, is that he's got a _major_ c-r-u-s-h on Remus."

Sirius glared at Lily, "I thought I could trust you."

"Well, I thought your friends ought to know."

"Well, I was coming to that," Sirius stood closer to Lily, and glared even more.

"Why are you glaring at me anyway?" Lily's face was neutral.

"Because-"

James cut in, "Guys, let's NOT talk about glaring for the moment. By the way, Evans, I'd like to give you this."

James took out a box of chocolates from his pocket and handed it to Lily.

For a moment, Lily didn't know what to think. She blurted out, "That is so sweet!"

"Really? D'you think so?" Lily nodded slowly. Gee thanks, she thought. Thanks head for being so co-operative with my brain. "They're not Honeydukes finest?"

"Oh? I'm sure they're delicious," Lily said carefully.

"Yeah, I hope so. I made them myself yesterday."

Sirius laughed, "_That _was why you locked yourself up in the old, dusty broom closet."

Lily laughed nervously, as James' ears moved a little, side to side, all red and crimson.

Peter piped up, "So Sirius, what are you going to give Remus?"

"I don't know."

Lily suggested, "What about a computer?"

"What in the name of Merlin's Sunday Pants is that?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Okay, pass on that. It's muggle technology. I thought Remus would like to examine with muggle tech."

"What about…" James pondered, "A vase with flowers?"

"Too girly," James and Sirius snorted when Lily whispered "Sexist men" to herself. Peter merely squeaked with hiccups.

"What about a Shakespearian poem?"

"What?"

"Shakespearian? Don't you know? He's like the most famous guy on planet earth," Lily looked at Sirius like he was a three-year old.

"Oh yeah? Get me his fone-numba then," Sirius challenged Lily.

James pointed out, "He's dead Pads. Don't you listen to Remus when he drones on about famous muggles?"

"He doesn't notice what Remus says," Peter squealed. "He stares at Remus' red pants with pink lovehearts on them. I heard him curse a spell so he could stare at them."

Sirius blushed, "Wormie that is _beside_ the point. I guess I could just give him a poem."

James snorted. "A poem? Come Pads, I'd expect you to do better than that!"

Lily said, "I think it's a great idea. But I guess it'll be hard for you to write a deep one."

"Who asked for your opinion?" Sirius glared at her.

Lily stuck her hands in the air. "Alright, I'll just leave you to it then."

xxx-xxx-xxx

What was Sirius supposed to write? Some sucked-up cliché romantic poem? He wasn't exactly the so-called 'Shakespeare'.

_Do all Valentines' day poems **have** to be romantic and happy like a little bunny bloody rabbit? _Sirius pondered. _What about a deep, angsty poem…? Maybe not. _

Sirius scribbled all over his 100th piece of paper, his 100th attempt.

What would Remus do?

Sirius imagined Remus, in his sexy voice saying, "Just follow your instincts Pads, dear," missing the 'dear' though, which kind of annoyed Sirius a little.

Despite that Sirius grinned and wrote through his poem.

xxx-xxx-xxx

**Valentines' Day **

**A Big Day For Sirius Black **

**(All of you, remember that) **

"Let's have a look then Pads," James said to Sirius, as he scoffed a croissant in his mouth.

Sirius spoke, "No way."

"See what?" Remus said curiously.

Peter piped up, "Oh, Sirius has a surprise for you!"

Sirius elbowed Peter, as he squeaked in pain.

Remus eyed Sirius, "What 'surprise'? You haven't planned another prank, have you?"

"Uh. No."

James whispered, "I think now's the time Padfoot."

Sirius shivered, as James pushed him up to the front of the Great Hall. He thought he heard a 'Good luck' from Lily, out of the corner of his ear.

James flipped a microphone out of his pocket. _Okay, just speak normally, _James thought. _And DO NOT make a great big fat fool of yourself in front of Lily. _

_Why the heck does Prongs have that thing in his pocket? _Sirius gave James a confused look.

"-cough- Hello everyone at Hogwarts! As you know, it's Valentines' Day and…" James began.

"Are you going to ask me out?" a Ravenclaw shouted out.

James gave her a weird look. "Unfortunately, not today. My friend Sirius Black here has a poem he'd like to read to my other friend Remus."

"He's gay?" shocked whispers spread around the room.

James said loudly, "Will you just shut up and listen to what Sirius has to say?" That shut everyone up. Except the Slytherins; Snivellus smirked at his fellow Death Eater Rodolphus Lestrange.

Sirius had small droplets of sweat dripping down his forehead, as he took a deep breath,

_"I hate the way you talk to me, _

_And the way you cut your hair, _

_I hate the way you ignore me, _

_I hate it when you stare, _

_I hate your big dumb cargo pants, _

_And the way you read my mind, _

_I hate you so much it makes me sick, _

_It even makes my rhyme. _

_I hate the way you're always right, _

_I hate it when you lie, _

_I hate when you make me laugh, _

_Even worse when you make me cry, _

_I hate it that you're not around, _

_And the fact you didn't write, _

_But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you, _

_Not even close, _

_Not even a little bit, _

_Not even at all," _

Sirius saw that a small tear came out of the corner of Remus' eye.

Peter began to cheer, together with Lily and James. Soon the whole student body (excluding the Slytherins) were cheering with joy.

xxx-xxx-xxx

"Padfoot, I'd just like to say thanks for that poem you read at breakfast," Remus smiled at Sirius.

"It's okay, Remmy."

"Remmy?"

"Yeah," Sirius grinned.

"The thing is Sirius…I wanted to tell you…that I love you."

Sirius was shocked. His lips quivered a little, "I guess I love you too, Remmy. I think."

"You think?" Sirius winked, "That's right, I think."

Remus blushed, "Uh…shall we kiss then?"

Sirius grinned, "Yeah, let's just switch the lights off first."

****


	16. Teddy and Victoire

**A Guide to Love, Loss and Desperation**

**(Teddy/Victoire)**

** By TomOrli BloomingWell **

* * *

Love can lead you down two different roads; that of happiness or heartbreak. Sometimes, it might seem as if the two come together in the same package as in the case of the following excerpt from the very troubling life of Teddy Lupin. 

Our protagonist Teddy Lupin was slumped over on one of the very comfortable sofas in the unusually quiet Gryffindor common room, a box of chocolates sitting precariously on his lap and a mug of Firewhiskey held loosely in his hand. By the description mentioned before, one could say that he was in a clearly miserable state. Why, you ask? Why simply because the love of his life had been off gallivanting in Hogsmeade with Robert Yeats, the captain of the Ravenclaw quidditch team. Fittingly enough that day was Valentine's Day and so it definitely was the ideal time of year to show the world how unwanted you were.

A giggling was heard from outside the portrait hole, followed by voices. "Thank you for today, I really enjoyed it…"

"The pleasure was all mine," a deeper voice responded. There was a pause. Teddy wondered what was going on then the conversation continued, "Goodnight, Victoire…"

"Goodnight, Robert…" The password was given and the portrait swung open. Teddy stood up abruptly causing the box of chocolates to fall, the assorted sweets scattering over the floor. Enter our female lead: the beautiful Victoire Weasley, her head was buried in a large bouquet of red roses with a large smile spread across her face. "Teddy," she said with surprise when she noticed him, "Whatever are you doing here so late in the night?"

"I-I was waiting for you," Teddy stammered. "Erm, so how was your day?"

Victoire smiled and hid under the flowers, still drunk from the beautiful scent, "Teddy, you wouldn't believe how beautiful it was!" Victoire took a few quick steps and spun around, her arms spread out into the air like a little girl who had just received her dream dollhouse for Christmas. She carefully placed the bouquet on a nearby end-table and walked nearer towards her dear friend. "First, Robert brought me to the Three Broomsticks, not Madam Puddifoot's like any other silly boy would do and then…"

Teddy smiled, forgetting about the fact that she cherished another. He loved it when she was happy, her eyes would light up and she would just have a glow about her, it was like she could make everyone happy even though he was extremely miserable. "He even brought me to Honeyduke's and bought me those little enchanted gummy bears, I prefer those to the cliché boxes of chocolate –"

"_I_ got you a box of chocolates…" Teddy interrupted.

Victoire furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, "Whatever for, Teddy?"

Teddy took a deep breath, he wanted to take the risk. If he wasn't going to do it now, when? Next year while he was off working while she stayed behind at Hogwarts for her sixth year? He couldn't even bear to think that she, his one love, could stay behind at school with Yeats, dating him. "I love you…"

Victoire let out a giggle, "Don't be silly!" Victoire pushed him softly on the shoulder. Teddy didn't know what to think. Was she flirting with him? Although he was considered the school's resident geek, he wasn't blind to cupid's arrows around that time of year. Just that morning, he had seen fourth year Pamela Watson from Slytherin with her hands all over Gary Holding giggling her little head off.

"I'm not kidding Victoire. I really do have feelings for you," Teddy said. Victoire noticed his tone, not the least bit lighthearted. He really was serious.

Victoire cleared her voice nervously and chewed her bottom lip, "Teddy, I really don't know what to say. I just don't have feelings like that for you… I'm sorry." Victoire turned away, heading over to the Girls' Dormitory stairs. Teddy took a step forward and grabbed her hand.

"Victoire, please don't do this to me…" Although that was probably one of the most uncomfortable times of her life, she didn't take her hand back. She just left it there in his larger one. She brought her grey-blue eyes up to Teddy's dark brown ones and studied his him, there was a sense of longing and desperation in those vast pools of mystery and intrigue.

Overcome with desire and the heat of the moment, Teddy leaned in closer, and gave her a short but sweet kiss. Their lips hung in limbo, Victoire was confused about what was going on. She felt drawn to him, she really did but she was Robert's Valentine. Teddy waited for her to respond, he wasn't going to kiss her again without her permission. Thing was that if she really didn't want this to happen, she would have backed out ages ago. And there was that one nagging feeling, _She was Robert's_…

Victoire brought her hand up to his face and touched it softly, then their lips touched. A whirlwind of emotions being exchanged.

_A ten-year-old Teddy Lupin and an eight-year-old Victoire were sitting on a swing, "How come Carroll's already gotten a kiss?" Victoire said, pouting._

_"Maybe 'coz she's much older than you are… She is fifteen," Teddy said reasonably._

_Victoire shrugged her tiny shoulders, "It's not that big of a difference." Teddy smiled and looked over at his companion. "I want a kiss, will you kiss me Teddy?"_

_"Yuk! That's disgusting Victoire…" Teddy said scrunching his face into a grimace._

_"Well, when you're older you'll be begging to kiss a girl. That's what Carroll says," Victoire said in a very matter-of-factly tone, her nose stuck up in the air. Teddy made yet another look of disgust and pretended to vomit. "You'll see, you'll be begging to kiss me, just you wait!"_

_Teddy rolled his eyes, "That's just about as likely as me giving you my bubblegum ring." Victoire let out an indignant hmph before walking back to the cottage._

Victoire broke away, "I can't do this," she said breathily. "I'm sorry…" she said, the familiar feeling of a lump forming in her throat. She ran up the stairs, trying to hold back the tears of confusion, leaving Teddy behind alone in the common room.

He touched his cheek and lips, and ran his hand through his hair. A sense of emptiness overwhelmed him, he was empty again. He regained his place at the couch and grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey, drinking from it directly. All was lost, he couldn't care anymore. She had made her decision.

Teddy reached in his pocket and withdrew the ring, the ring he had gotten at the gumball machine when he was a child. He remembered how much he had hated it, how he had wasted fifty pence on a worthless piece of plastic instead of the gum he wanted. Then she told him how much she liked it, and ever since then, he had yet to throw it away. It was clutched in his hand until the bright rays of the sunrise woke him from his alcohol-induced slumber. He slowly got up to go back to his bed in the Boys' Dormitory.

He took another glance at the flowers on the table and tied the ring to them, leaving a note:

_A bubblegum ring, as promised by a small boy to a little girl who longed to be kissed._

Teddy sighed heavily and groggily made his way up the stairs.


	17. Frank and Alice

**Waiting:**

**(Frank/Alice)**

**By Laura Walden**

* * *

A teenage boy on his motorbike turned to look at the dimly lit house. There she was again, that odd woman, pushing aside her curtains, peering out the window. She looked at him intently (well, alright, he had been by her house four times already but he was just working up the nerve to visit the pretty girl… really!) and seemed to be tapping the handle of a wooden spoon aside her thigh. 

He peered closer. But wooden spoons don't have sparks coming out one end, do…?

He shook his head suddenly and sped off, wondering at the odd craving for meatballs he had just developed.

**---**

**12:05**

Alice Longbottom was waiting.

She spent half her life waiting, or so it seemed. Waiting for word to come from the Order that someone was hurt, or killed (or safe, yes, but it more and more it seemed that the news was never good), waiting for assignments from the Order, waiting for meetings to begin or end, waiting on the post for news of friends in far away-places, waiting on meals, waiting for Frank to get home, waiting, waiting, waiting…

She was pacing again, pausing only to push back the curtains of their front window. She was waiting for Frank to get home from work. _It was after _midnight_, he should be _home_ by now!_, she thought irritability. A light flutter in her stomach caused her to smile and rest her hands on her slightly- protruding belly before resuming her pacing again.

She had gone to the Order meeting alone that night. She knew she would have to, with Frank working late, but she still hating Apperating to the meeting place alone. Of course it was secure. Dumbledore himself had made sure it was secure. But now that she was pregnant, was carrying _life_, was carrying _their child_… well, she just felt better with Frank along.

It was stupid saying that. She was strong; she could take care of herself. Hadn't she proved it time and time again, fighting with the Order, sometimes alone, sometimes with back-up? Yet Lily felt the same thing.

"I don't like the nights when James is gone," Lily had confessed to Alice as they both waited for the meeting to begin. "Sometimes Sirius will come and sit up with me when James is gone on assignment, but he has better things to do than play Exploding Snap with a tired, hormonal, fat woman."

"Lily, my love," said Sirius sliding up to her and slipping his arm around her shoulders, "I have nothing better to do than make sure my godson is safe and happy and if that means guarding him in the womb, well, then, so be it." He puffed out his chest proudly and grinned. Alice snorted.

"You're so full of it," she said fondly and Lily laughed.

"I never thought I'd say it," Lily added as he walked into the meeting room, "but Sirius is a good bloke. So, Frank working tonight?"

Alice nodded. "Yes, for the Auror department. James on duty?"

"Yes. You'd think Dumbeldore would give the married guy night the night off but, no, he sends him to check up on a Quidditch supplier who happens to be Muggle-born!"

"Really?" Lily nodded ruefully and Alice laughed. "Poor James. I bet he was just broken hearted get that assignment."

"So sad that he promised to bring the new baby Quidditch robes to make it up to me! I told him to bring a box of Acid Pops instead." There was a pause before Lily went on. "Those nights alone can drag. Do you want me to come and stay with you until Frank gets home? I can leave a note for James."

"Thank you but no."

She must have looked exceptionally pitiful, though, since both Remus and Peter offered to see her home. She chose, instead, to go to the cold, empty house alone and listen to the wireless with only peanut butter and peach sandwiches for comfort.

**---**

**1:00 am**

Alice took another bite of her sandwich, the peach juice dripping down her chin. _He still isn't home! Damn him!_ She thought, pushing aside the curtain. _If this goes on much longer, I will owl James and have him go hunting for Frank! He promised he wouldn't be late tonight and he always sends a Patronus if he will be! _Frank In a frustrated and hormonal rage, she slammed her fist onto the table… only to feel her sandwich squish under her hand. Chuckling ruefully, she glanced at the tattered remains before shrugging and popping the whole thing into her mouth.

_Of course, this is loads better than our first Valentine's Day, when Frank sent me a note asking me to Hogsmeade and I puked all over my bed not two minutes before I was supposed to meet him in the Great Hall! _She giggled at the memory of one of her dorm-mates holding back her hair as she gagged into the toilet, sobbing that she had lost her only chance to date the handsome Frank Longbottom and that he would think she was drunk but she had the flu, honestly!

Her friend had smiled and assured her that she would make _sure_ Frank knew she was _honestly_ sick, not drunk or something _stupid_. And how she had, Alice never knew, but the next time Frank asked her out, it was in person, with a sweet, shy kiss and one single, perfect rose, presented to her as she sat on a swing near the lake.

**1:30 am**

Alice flopped onto the overstuffed sofa and rubbed at her tired eyes. The baby was sucking the life out of her, he was (although Frank was insistent that it was a girl) but she needed to stay awake for Frank. To hell with Valentine's Day! She wanted mint ice-cream and the assurance that the father of her baby hadn't gotten himself blown into smithereens by some crazy Dark Wizard!

_If he's not home by three,_ she thought recklessly, _I will Floo his mother, so help me!_

**2:15 am**

A soft _creak_ jerked Alice from sound sleep to her feet. She swayed for a minute, then whipped out her wand and faced the door.

Another _creak_.

Then… slowly… the deadbolt turned.

A light glowed from beneath the door.

And it swung open.

With lightening reflexes, Alice produced a shield so strong that she was forced to step back. Her guest looked at her in surprise, then gave a tired smile.

" Alice, honey…"

"Don't you dare _honey_ me!" she snapped. "Who are you?"

He sighed. "Frank Longbottom, your husband." She glared. "Erm, your very late husband who should have been home hours ago but stopped to get you Valentine's Day candies even though it's no longer Valentine's Day?" Frank looked half-hopeful but Alice didn't move. "Oh, right. We're naming the baby Frances or Neville and we haven't told anyone those names except Lily and since pregnant woman can't change their appearances, you know I am not Lily! Would you please take down that shield and let me in?"

Alice suppresses a grin and waved her wand. Frank sighed and entered the house, two red roses and a box of chocolates clutched in one hand. Alice eyed the candies greedily before saying, "So, you stopped to get Valentine's Day candies, eh?"

"I did," he confirmed, handing the red heart shaped box over. Alice squealed.

"Oh, Muggle chocolates! How did you ever find them?" she asked, peeling away a wrapper and popping the sweet candy into her mouth. Giving him a grin, she muttered, "This almost makes up for being so late!"

"I couldn't find them, which is why I'm so late!" Frank flopped onto the couch and stretched out his long legs, eyes half closed. "Would you believe Muggle stores close late on Valentine's Day? I finally found them in Surrey, of all places. And these." He held out two single, long stemmed roses to her, which she gently took. "One from me and one from the baby."

"Thank you." Alice leaned in and kissed him gently. He grinned at her through the kiss and she laughed. "Oh, you. Roses and chocolates. _Maybe_ I'll forgive before this baby is born. _Maybe."_

"Hey." Gently grabbing both her hands, Frank gently tugged until his wife was sitting in his lap. She cuddled against him, wrapping both his arms around her belly. He rubbed her bump (_their_ bump, she often said. _Their_child. _Their_ future.) gently, delighting in the little flutters that greeted his hands. "I'm sorry you stayed up so late. You weren't worried, were you?" She glared at him. "Uh, I guess you were!"

"I considered Floo'ing your mother," she said sleepily, smiling against his shoulder.

"You wouldn't!"

"I would," she confirmed. "Honestly, Frank. You worked late, which is fine because I knew about it. Then you're home several hours after I expect you with no Floo, no owl, no patronus. What am I supposed to think?"

"That I was getting you a little present?" he asked weakly. She shook her head at him.

"Next time," she whispered, turning to take his face in her hands, "let me know you are going to be late!" She kissed him gently. "I hate waiting, not knowing. Promise you will send word, next time?"

"Promise." He kissed her back, gently. Smiling shyly, Alice slid off his lap and pulled him to his feet. Kissing him briefly, she flashed him a cheeky grin.

"I suppose you are very tired, after Apperating all over England to get me that lovely box of chocolates. You probably want to go to bed."

"Umm… not that tired," he said, returning her smile as they walked hand in hand back to the bedroom. "You?"

"Who me? Why would I be tired, after waiting up all night for you? I'm wide awake and craving mint ice cream with meatballs on top!"


	18. Charlie and Tonks

**To Chocolate**

**(Charlie/Tonks)**

**By Heart4Happiness **

* * *

"Not tears, Charlie? A strong young man like yourself?"  
"Been dumped, haven't I? She's off with another man, getting cosy at Madam Puddifoot's."  
She sighs. "Single too. We should start a club. In fact, that's exactly what we should do; bottle of Odgen's finest under my bed. I'll fetch it, shall I?"  
He know he shouldn't – but the looks on her face makes his heart melt.  
"Go ahead. I'll bring the chocolate."  
Screw his instincts. 

**---**

An hour, three glasses of Odgen's and nine chocolates later, he's feeling much better.  
"Refill, now," he says, tapping his glass, "I'm nowhere near drunk."  
She laughs, pouring the liquid, spilling odd amounts as she does so.  
He raises his glass. "To being single!"  
She laughs, raising his glass to match his. "To chocolate!"  
And soon they're making ridiculous toasts, to Dumbledore, to alcohol…  
"To freedom! Yes, to freedom, come on, hold my hand now Tonks, and we'll toast to freedom forever!"  
"And," she adds, slurring, "to finding the right person to fall in love with!"  
Their eyes meet in understanding. She draws herself closer to him, and as he closes his eyes, their lips meet in a soft, wet kiss.  
"Yes," he says, finally drawing away, "to being single." 

**---**

"Happy Valentine's, Charlie."

It's a box of chocolates; so ironic.

"You too, Tonks. Hope you're well. Congratulations, I heard about you and Lupin."

"Wait, no, don't go."

She grabs hold of his arm.

"I wanted to… to say sorry. About… about everything, really."

"S'all right."

"One day," she continues, "one day, you'll find this girl. She's going to be your everything, and then, then you'll see. I was just some crush, a teenage thing, but when you find her, you'll know what love is."

She smiles, touches his arm, and Disapparates.

"I know what love is already," he says lightly.

(That night, he throws the chocolates in the fire, and realises that they smell like her, if he's just a little bit drunk and concentrates hard enough.)


	19. Sirius and OC

******_Those Dancing Days Are Gone_**

** (Sirius/OC)**

**By ****Gaby-Black**

* * *

The Marauders were the sky.

James was the sun. Bright, obvious and strong, he was the leader of the group, shining on everyone around him.

Peter was the clouds that stuck them together, calm and supportive and never fussing about anything.

Remus was the moon. Mysterious and nostalgic and wise.

And Sirius… Sirius was the stars: beautiful and attractive, yet twinkling in the distance, unreachable.

Yet she tried to reach for him. Sometimes she got too close to the stars she got burnt, like on Valentine's Day when she'd wanted so much to hear the words from him (had dreamt for 'I love you', had in reality expected only tender smiles), and he'd spent the day with his friends and eaten half of the box of chocolate James had given Lily. She'd never told him, but she'd have wanted a box of chocolate, or anything else, but on that day Sirius had avoided her, and she only had to think of that day to remember how much Sirius was afraid of love.

Sometimes it seemed to her that she managed to get him, even though the next second he would do something she would not understand; she knew he felt the same about her, and perhaps it was what they liked the most about their relationship, the pleasure of constantly discovering things about each other.

Yes, the Marauders were the sky, Venus reflected, and as much as she loved them all, sometimes she just wished the stars would leave the sun and the moon and the clouds and just get down on the earth with her and be happy.

"But stars are made for the sky," Venus whispered.

"What?"

Venus looked at Sirius, realizing that she had voiced her thoughts. She sighed wistfully as she glanced at their raven hair entangled on Sirius's shoulder as she snuggled closer to him.

"Nothing," Venus replied softly, "nothing…"

Sirius nodded, with a look that meant he knew there was something. He looked away darkly, his eyes wandering around the common room. It was almost midnight on their last day at Hogwarts: tomorrow they would be leaving for good. James and Lily were in the Heads Tower and Peter and Remus had just gone to bed. She decided it was the perfect moment. She would not leave this place before having declared her feelings, would she?

"I think I'm in love," Venus said slowly, not looking at him.

"In love with who?" Sirius asked, frowning.

Venus's eyes widened and she glared at him. "With you, you idiot!"

Sirius laughed. "I was joking."

But then his smile faded and she realized that his question had started from a serious disbelief. Suddenly she remembered everything he'd told her once (on a night when he'd been a bit drunk and he'd rested his shoulder uncharacteristically shyly on her shoulder). How his family didn't love him. How _no one_ loved him (Sirius always had a thing for drama).

Venus smiled kindly and kissed his cheek and stroked his face tenderly.

"I love you, Sirius," Venus murmured.

Sirius remained silent as he held her tight. She sighed, revelling in his strong embrace, and when she pulled back she could swear she saw the faintest trace of tears in Sirius's stormy grey eyes. He walked towards the window, his back turned to her.

"I don't want to leave," Sirius said quietly, his voice slightly choked. "Hogwart's everything to me."

By now, Venus was sure that he was crying, but she made as if she had not noticed. Sirius was not moving and she felt that he needed her to stay there watching him in silence, until he got it all sorted out in his head. After a few minutes, he impulsively turned around and quickly made his way towards her, stopping just inches from her as if he was afraid.

"Promise," Sirius just said coolly, his eyes drowning into hers.

"Promise what?" Venus whispered, though she felt, she knew, what he meant.

Sirius took her hand. She looked down at their joined hands: her olive-coloured skin clashed with his pale skin. She strangely felt like crying (perhaps it was because Sirius had not said anything resembling 'I love you too', perhaps it was the way he firmly held her hand).

"You won't leave me."

"I won't leave you."

Sirius laughed darkly. His bark-like laughter echoed across the common room. Venus looked away from him; through the window she could see the starry sky mocking her.

"You don't mean that. You can't say that, you don't know what's going to happen."

Venus frowned. "Love isn't about not leaving, Sirius."

He stepped back, let her hand drop. "What's it about then?"

"I don't know," Venus replied truthfully. "I don't know."

Sirius turned and walked towards the window again. She gritted her teeth and sighed in annoyance.

"And I don't know either," Sirius said darkly. "I was never loved and I never loved."

"And James, and Peter, and Remus?"

"You know what I mean," Sirius said exasperatedly. "I did not mean friendship."

"And your ex-girlfriends, surely they told you they loved you?"

Sirius laughed derisively. "I might not know what love is, but I know _that_ definitively wasn't love."

Venus sighed again. "And me?"

Sirius avoided her eyes again, pacing the room nervously.

"I can't say the words, Venus," Sirius said at last, sounding like a small child.

"Why not?" Venus asked softly.

Sirius stopped pacing and looked at her, though he still refused to meet her eye. "You know why. It's too hard."

Venus took a deep breath to refrain herself from snarling at him.

"Do you think it wasn't hard for me? Do you think I'd said it before, not counting my parents?"

"You had not?" Sirius asked, surprised.

Obviously, he had been so concerned with his own feelings that he had not put too much thoughts into hers.

"To whom would have I said them?"

There was nothing to answer to that. They stared at each other in silence and for a long while there was no sound but the clock suddenly striking midnight, startling them.

"I want to say it, you know," Sirius finally said. "I just feel like I can't."

"What if I helped you?"

Sirius smiled darkly and nodded. Venus's grin was warm and loving as she walked towards him, taking one step with each word said.

"I."

"I," Sirius repeated easily.

"Love."

"Love," Sirius said, with a little more difficulty.

"You."

"You."

"Venus."

"Venus," Sirius finished, finally finding the strength to look into her eyes.

She was close to him now and he just had to take one step towards her to kiss her unusually chastely.

"Here, you said it," Venus smiled.

Venus was immensely relieved and happy when Sirius grinned back, even though his smile was still slightly insecure.

"Do you feel better?" Venus asked as she hugged him. "Because I do."

"Yeah, so do I," Sirius whispered in her ear. "I feel… relieved, somehow."

Sirius kissed her forehead and sighed (though whether it was a sigh of contentment, of sadness or of relief, she couldn't quite tell).

"You puzzle me, Sirius," Venus said earnestly.

Sirius laughed. His hair fell on the bittersweet rainy sky that were his eyes.

"I hope so," Sirius replied.

Venus studied him as he gazed around the room; it seemed like he wanted to engrave the image of the common room in his mind forever.

"It's not a bad thing, you know… people knowing you."

Sirius shrugged but he seemed to consider her words. He stood in front of the window again.

"Don't make the same mistake I did," Venus insisted, her voice barely more than a whisper. "There's no point in closing yourself. No good will come out of it."

Sirius took a deep breath and she joined him by the window. He smiled a little sadly as he put his arm around her waist.

"By the way… I'm sorry for Valentine's Day."

It seemed to her the most incongruous thing to say, and she could not help but chuckle. He was looking at her seriously.

"You're forgiven," Venus said lightly, "even though it was four months ago –"

"I had not realized…" Sirius muttered, embarrassed, "you know –"

"I know," Venus cut in.

Sirius nodded and pulled her closer to him. She smiled against his chest and closed her eyes, thinking that he loved her and hoping against hope that everything would be all right. Then she remembered that they were leaving and that outside there was a war going on. They would fight and there would be losses, inevitably. Lily's parents had died the month before; it was only then that they'd realized their innocence was gone.

Venus gave a slight shudder and Sirius kissed the top of her head.

"It's really over, isn't it?" Venus whispered, gesturing vaguely towards the window.

Sirius looked at her and nodded gravely.

He did not need to be told that she was talking about their youth.

_Come, let me sing into your ear;  
Those dancing days are gone,  
All that silk and satin gear;  
Crouch upon a stone,  
Wrapping that foul body up  
In as foul a rag:  
I carry the sun in a golden cup  
The moon in a silver bag_

(William Butler Yeats)


	20. Lily and James

******_Endgame_**

** (Lily/James)**

**By ****Lexie-H**

* * *

"How would you feel if I ran away to Timbuktu?" 

The Gryffindor Common room was quiet. Small groups of younger students worked at the study desks, and several circles of armchairs away, three fourth years were playing Gobstones.  
She sat, alone, on a plush lounge before the fire, a hastily closed book in her lap. The flickering firelight made her flaming hair glow. The question was outrageous, but then, wasn't that the point?  
More than anything else in the world at that moment, Lily Evans wanted to shock him. Shock him into displaying some sort of emotion that went beyond his happy-go-lucky, I'm-all-right-with-being-just-friends-with-you façade. She was tired of games, but didn't know how to stop them.  
She wanted, for once, to see the real him.

James Potter stopped in his tracks, en route between the portrait hole and the Boys' staircase, blinking steadily. His cheerful smile turned to one of puzzlement, but he didn't respond. Instead, he simply stood there in front of her, legs and feet lost to her sight behind the back of her lounge.  
Something about the look in her eyes told him this was another game, and – a first in their long history of play - one he wasn't quite sure how to respond to.  
James calculated everything, now. There'd been times when he hadn't, but the lesson had been learnt: spontaneity never won him the girl. So instead, he began to unravel himself for her, showing her himself, piece by piece but never as a whole, and hoping desperately that somewhere along the line she'd become snagged. Their courtship, like a game of chess.

What he didn't let on, hidden behind the intelligent twinkle of his eyes, was that he _knew_ she'd been snagged, months ago. What he didn't understand but refused to fight was his compulsion to continue his grand scheme. The one thing he knew was this: it'd all end with a kiss.  
James was becoming increasingly tired of waiting for that endgame, that kiss, that absolute checkmate.

Lily set aside her book, watching him impatiently. Her eyes traveled from his strangely startled expression to the box he clutched in his hands.  
"What's that?" she asked, voice forcefully casual, gesturing to it. It was as though her previous question had never been asked, but that in itself told James exactly how to react.  
_She was like a wild animal, sometimes – always watching him, eagerly, but when he came to close…_  
Lily sighed inwardly. Once upon a time, James could have been relied upon to immediately rattle off a list of Reasons She Should Stay. Now, however – apparently, the word indifferent would be putting it mildly. Instead, all he did was vault the lounge-back to sit beside her, and calmly offer a half-empty box of chocolates.  
She selected a little chocolate heart, eyeing him questioningly, and he shrugged.

"Why would you want to go to Timbuktu?"

Lily bit the little heart in half, brutally, tasting its sweetness with satisfaction. Strawberry creams were her favourite. She put the other half into her hand, gazing at it ironically. _A broken heart_.  
"Because I feel restless," she told him, then. "Because I wake up every morning and know exactly what to expect. Because I want to do something for myself. I want to learn new things, see new places. I want an adventure, James."  
Her voice was a steady monotone, words measured carefully - although she was confident James didn't notice that. Apparently, he wasn't so observant. In fact, in Lily's opinion his studied obliviousness was becoming rather disconcerting.  
It was even more disconcerting that he smiled at this, though, not meeting her eyes. Their shoulders bumped together companionably and even through two layers of woolen sweater (his and hers) Lily could feel the heat of his body. Unbidden, her eyes slid closed, and….  
_You're dwelling on a dream_, she reminded herself unflinchingly.  
More to distract herself than anything else, Lily found herself asking, "What are you smiling about?"  
If she could guide the conversation, then at least he wasn't calling all the shots.

James dipped his hand into the chocolate box, ate one whole, chewing thoughtfully. This reminded Lily that her second piece of broken heart still sat in her hand – in fact, it seemed to be melting to her palm, a messy, sticky blob.  
Broken hearts were never pleasant.  
"I was just imagining," he responded, slowly, "_you_, swinging across the Nile on a green vine. I suppose there were crocodiles, too, snapping at your heels. That sort of thing."  
He wasn't, really, but this seemed the thing to say. If James had one weakness, it was his addiction to making Lily smile. Just one smile and she'd make his day. He couldn't explain it either, but a fact was a fact, and James wasn't the sort of person to argue with the truth.  
Denial could be poisonous. They were both learning that the hard way.

Lily rolled her eyes, then, and surrendered an ironic smile. As usual, James had apparently completely missed the point.  
"Timbuktu is in a desert, idiot. Don't you pay attention in _History of_ –? Oh, never mind. For your information, it's one of the oldest magical civilizations in the world. And it's _not_ in Egypt."  
She felt frustration welling up inside her then – frustration with him, frustration with _her_, frustration with old memories and lost opportunities. Frustration with pretending to be someone she wasn't.  
Supposedly not aware of this, James nodded patiently.  
"No, it isn't," he agreed. "But you still have to get there."  
Strangely, his gentle sense of reason made her smile, sadly, ruefully.  
"By swinging on a vine across crocodile-infested waters? _In the desert?_ James, where's the vine coming from?"  
He was the most impractical person she knew.

She didn't know that half of what she knew was a ruse. All she had were pieces of him, appearances, observations. He'd been testing her, drawing out her patience, intoxicating her with little bread-crumbs of information that she fed upon, craved.  
What he craved was for her to see the full picture, though. The jigsaw complete, where appearances were dulled by the brilliance of reality. He was confident she'd prefer his reality, too.  
He was right.

"It would be dangerous," James conceded solemnly. She could have sworn his eyes were twinkling, then. "Not to mention you'd get sunburn. You aren't really built for the desert, Lily. You're…. You're like chocolate. You melt too easily."

_Melt for you, maybe_.  
Lily shook her head, startled. That was the last thought in the world she should have having - however much it made her want to grin like a giddy schoolgirl.  
Even as she fought to hide it, deep down there was nothing Lily wanted more than to be normal. Which she was, to varying degrees, but nothing about James Potter was normal, and it was his extraordinariness that made her feel extraordinary sometimes, too. Normal wasn't enough for James, seemingly, but with all her heart she wished it was.  
_Not going to happen_, she reminded herself, repeating the mantra over and over. _Not going to happen_.

James was staring at her hands – rather, at the messy, gooey, former broken-heart in her hand.  
"You gonna eat that?"  
He knew what she was thinking, then: the smudged, melted heart was hers. He was going to take that too, apparently, but then she didn't mind so much. If her heart had to break, at least it was shared in halves between them.  
He swore he'd take better care of it.

Without waiting for a response, he picked it up, delicately, and popped it into his mouth, smiling crookedly, irresistibly, as the chocolate dissolved on his tongue.  
"Anyway," he continued, licking his finger casually, "I don't think you'd really suit Timbuktu."  
He wished she'd understand what he was really saying. He wished that she'd stop trying to analyse him, because some things were too complicated for analysis – some _people_ were too complicated for analysis – and she was clearly concluding with an imperfect impression of him every time he tried.

Lily watched him lick the remains of her heart off his finger, frowning. She'd never been one for thinly veiled criticism.  
"That's irrelevant!" she protested. "If I want to go, that should be enough."  
_If I want you, that should be enough._  
He hadn't tried to talk her out of going, she realized dismally. He'd just… assessed the idea and arrived at a practical conclusion. No emotion, nothing… He didn't even care.  
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a dead giveaway she was agitated. He grimaced inwardly, dissatisfied. _That'd teach her to play games with him_.  
_That'd teach him, for allowing her to think he wanted things to be this way._  
Sometimes he didn't mind particularly, because keeping the pretense allowed him to spend time with her, but when it inevitably ended with Lily forming another Wrong Impression, James had to restrain himself from hitting her over the head with his broomstick.

So it was lucky Lily was too distracted to notice that he too was miserable. Not that he liked to see her frown….  
It seemed to Lily that James could sense her disappointment. He picked up her sticky hand, eyeing it critically, before wiping the residual chocolate onto his finger and eating that, too. When that failed to produce a smile, he frowned, too. Suddenly their little game didn't seem so fun anymore. To James, it made no sense. He wondered if it ever had.

"You didn't really want my opinion, did you?" he stated suddenly, eyes finally meeting hers. "You wanted me to ask you to stay."  
Hazel eyes held green, widened in surprise. His gaze was merciless, and for the first time Lily understood that James saw right through her. He was calling her bluff.  
More importantly, she hadn't seen it coming.  
She averted her gaze hurriedly, disconcerted.  
How was it, she wondered, that she always managed to underestimate James Potter? Every time she thought she'd had her epiphany – _bam_. It was gone, blasted to shards with his smile, his laughing looks. His eyes taunted her – she imagined him, his smile, his quiet taunting: _you don't know me, you'll never know me_.

Inwardly, James kicked himself, because the last thing he wanted was that look of devastation etched across her face. He'd let her think he was something he wasn't – _again_. How many times was he going to let her make that mistake?  
Some people learn from their mistakes. Others don't (apparently).  
If Lily wasn't going to learn herself, James would have to teach her.  
_How many times was he going to let her make that mistake?  
Not again. _

The room fell into silence, and to keep herself busy, Lily helped herself to the last chocolate. James recognized the steely look of determination on her face instantly: denial. He bit back a smile, a rush of affection flooding his body. Everything was right with the world if Lily was in denial. It just proved what he'd always suspected: some people never change.  
But he'd put her through enough tonight, and it seemed cruel to keep playing.

He was sick of playing games.

He was sick of allowing her to pretend he was someone he wasn't: of playing along to this game of charades. He was sick of waiting for her, the Queen, to checkmate him. He was tired allowing her misunderstandings of him to break her heart, bit by bit. Sirius had been right:  
"_You're not the vindictive sort, Prongs."_

"Why did you have these, anyway?" she asked suddenly.

James stood with a sigh, looking down at her evenly, unflinchingly honest.  
Because if he was completely honest, James was as sick of her denial as he was sick of their games, and sick of counting the near misses of understanding that had now become routine between them.  
Perhaps, it was time for a clean slate, an empty board. A new game, but one they could both win.  
"They were for you, for Valentines Day. I was rescuing what was left of them from Sirius, but…" he shrugged casually, gave a half-hearted smile. "It doesn't matter anymore. I guess I'll have to buy you roses, instead. I'm going to bed."

She was confused, now. He'd confused her again.  
Perhaps she'd never truly know who James Potter was. But then, on the contrary, she could paint a portrait of him in her mind's eye, with that mischievous smile, that worldly understanding in the depths of his hazel eyes, and seeing this, she knew exactly who he was. He was too patient, too kind, too generous.  
And she found him insatiable.

For once unaware of Lily's private revelation, James wanted nothing more than to smack his head, repeatedly, against a nice, hard stone wall.  
He nodded resolutely, hand reaching out unbidden to run a finger through her hair. It was soft, smooth, a wine-red coil entwined intimately around his finger.  
This was the closest he'd ever come to kissing her.

"Good night, Lily," he murmured, a little sadly.

She nodded, still frowning, her eyes still searching his, always searching, although tonight they gleamed with something new. Was it too much – _Was it too much to dare to hope?_ – that she'd finally found him?

"Night, James."

---

Scarcely two days later, Lily woke to a room scented with…  
She peeled open her eyes, surrendered to her smile. They'd made a step forward – found a broken link in their chain of misunderstandings. In some ways, it was like starting again. In others, it was like she'd always known him, and simply that she'd been afraid to admit it. That she'd created, projected onto him personalities, motives, objectives James protested had never existed. He called this denial, but he said the word so lovingly she didn't really mind.  
James was the sort of person, she now knew, who was as good as his word. Every available surface in her bedroom – including her bed – was scattered with rose petals. She sat up, absentmindedly shaking them from her hair.

Perhaps James was right, and that people never changed in essentials. It was their perspectives that became altered, tailored, sculpted.  
Lily was thriving on her new perspective.

He stood in the middle of the empty common room, grinning. As she appeared on the stairs, she was sure she saw him tuck something into his pocket…

"Happy Valentines Day, Lily," he greeted her cheerfully.

Lily came to stand before him, meeting his eyes evenly. _Just one more riddle, for old-times sake._ And he knew from that look that she wasn't really playing games. Not really.  
"I've changed my mind about Timbuktu, James. I don't think it suits my plans anymore."  
He nodded, pleased, and offered her a hand. It was good to relax, now. To smile at her freely and not worry about the hidden meanings she imagined for herself. To love her like he'd always wanted, but had been too cautious, too shy to, before.  
"Good," he replied when she took it. "I'm glad you saw sense. I didn't think I'd like Timbuktu very much, either." He smiled suddenly, because she seemed to understand that he would have followed her there, game or no game - and all she could see was relief. Full of impulsive affection, he leant forward to pluck a rose petal from her hair. "Miss Evans, since that's decided…. May I walk you to breakfast?"

Three young men hesitated by the portrait hole, lingering in the shadows in anticipation of James' need for his annual Valentines Day trip to the Hospital Wing. This year, however, it did not seem necessary. Sirius sighed, disappointed, and jerked his head toward the exit.

It was only after he was sure he'd heard the portrait hole close that James, still standing in the middle of the empty common room holding Lily's hand, bent down to kiss her.


	21. Katie and Oliver

**(Katie/Oliver)**

**By KristyT23**

* * *

"Katie, I had a really great time tonight," Dan told her.

"Yeah. Me too," Katie replied, blushing.

The two had just returned from the Daily Prophet's Annual Valentine's Day Party. He was also a fellow writer for the Quidditch section, and finally had the courage to ask Katie out.

"Goodnight." Dan embraced her, and kissed her on the cheek.

"Night," Katie said as she smiled sweetly. Katie happily took the bouquet of flowers that he got her, and put them in a glass vase on her kitchen table.

Katie sighed. The lavender roses were beautiful, they even matched her dress.

It had been forever since a guy last got her flowers. It had been forever since he got her flowers. Maybe, she was finally getting over him. It had been about a month since she saw him last. Three weeks since she received the breakup letter.

Katie plopped herself on the couch, and poured herself a glass of wine. She felt accomplished. It was the first time she went out with a guy, and felt normal. There were no fan girls all over Dan and he didn't get urgent owls in the middle of dinner. Dan danced with her. He on the other hand, would only dance if Katie asked him to. She took a sip of her wine, satisfied of how the date went.

Then, she began to cry. She cried out of joy. She finally felt free of him. Him, and the lifestyle that sometimes felt like such a burden. But then, she sobbed harder. Her mind was able to forget him, but her heart was still in love with him. In love with his obsession with Quidditch. In love with how his hair looked when he woke up. In love with his courageous spirit. A knock at the door. A wretched Katie answered it.

The tall Quidditch player stood outside, with a package under his arm.

"I'm really not in the mood for this Oliver," Katie answered, distressed.

"I really never got to explain," Oliver said. "Is this a bad time?"

"Explain what? You broke up with me through a letter for Merlin's sake.

That explains everything perfectly!" Katie yelled at him, trying to fight the tears falling down her cheeks. "I mean, you just could of said it to my face!"

"Katie, let me speak for a second! I broke up with you because I felt like I wasn't making you happy. I mean really, I'm always gone because of Quidditch. The paparazzi was always stalking you..."

"It didn't bother me that much. Don't you think if I didn't like your lifestyle, I would of broken up with you ages ago?!" Katie rebutted.

The intense silence lasted for a few seconds.

"Well Katie, Happy Valentine's Day," Oliver said gloomily as he handed her the package. "And I'm sorry about everything."

He stood still, just staring into Katie's tear-filled eyes. Oliver then did the unimaginable. He kissed her. And for those five seconds, Katie felt complete.

"Sorry…." Oliver stumbled.

Katie kissed him again. Surprised by her own actions, she quickly broke away.

"Goodnight," Katie said, shocked.

She slammed the door in his face, and chucked the package on her messy coffee table. She poured herself another glass of wine, and stared at the package on the table. After a couple of drinks, she decided to open it. It was a box of chocolates. On top, was a pink envelope tied to the package with a pink ribbon. She slowly opened it, afraid of what it could say.

_Dear Katie,_

_I love you…_

Katie crumbled the paper up in her hand and threw it into fireplace. She sat there, drinking wine, and eating the chocolates one by one, watching his words burn in the flames.


	22. Bill and Fleur

**Chocolate and Ginger  
(Bill/Fleur)  
By Bad Mum**

* * *

**Honeydukes Best**** (July 1995)**

"Why are you crying?"

"I am not!"

Hell. Why did the best-looking man in the bank have to be the one to see her like this? The only man in the place she didn't see mentally undressing her every time he looked her way. The only one under forty who hasn't asked her for a date. The only one she actually wouldn't mind going on a date with.

"It looks like you're crying to me. I guess you call it something different in French, but it's still the same thing. What's up? Can I help?"

"Please. Zhust go away. I am not crying. I am fine."

"Okay."

He shrugs and leaves.

_Hell, hell, hell.. Why did she tell him to go? He was being kind. He was treating her as a human being rather than as a servant (the goblins and her human boss) or a sex object (every other human male in the place) or an object of jealousy and malicious gossip (the other secretaries). Why did she tell him to go? Hell._

He comes back. She is still crying, but he doesn't comment on it this time.

_Why has he come back? Why is he bothering with her when she was so rude to him?_

"Here, I brought you something."

He lays a slab of Honeydukes best chocolate on the desk in front of her.

"Chocolat?" She lifts a tearstained face to his. He is half-smiling, but there is a look of concern in his eyes.

"My sister swears it helps when you're feeling down."

"You 'ave a sister?"

"Yeah." He perches on the edge of her desk, long legs stretched out in front of him. "You might know her. She's at Hogwarts."

Mon Dieu, but he is gorgeous. That hair, those eyes…She does not want him to leave again. Talk to him. Think of something to say. At least she has stopped crying.

"She 'as red 'air like you? Zhinny?"

"That's the one." He smiles. "My baby sister."

"You'ave bruzzers too." It sounds like an accusation: too abrupt. "'Arry's friend and zose twins."

"'Those twins'?" He grins. "Yeah, that pretty much describes Fred and George. And Ron – Harry's friend. And Percy, who was one of the judges in the Triwizard when Mr. Crouch wasn't there. And Charlie, who was there with the dragons for the first task. Seven of us. Charlie said you did well against the Chinese Fireball."

She shudders and bites her lip.

She is not going to start crying again, but she wishes he had not mentioned the Tournament. The dragon was the best bit, though it had scarcely felt like it at the time. After that was Gabrielle, the merpeople, the grindylow… Then the maze and – Cedric.

She shudders again.

"Sorry." He looks contrite. "I was trying to cheer you up, but I guess the Tournament was the wrong thing to talk about. Eat your chocolate. It'll help. Why were you crying?"

"I was not crying."

"Of course you weren't. Sorry."

She breaks off a piece of the chocolate and puts it in her mouth. It is creamy and sweet; indefinably different from the French chocolate she is used to.

Damn. She is not going to cry because the chocolate tastes wrong. She is not going to cry at all. She is not.

She pushes the slab of chocolate wordlessly towards him, and he helps himself.

"Zat is where I 'ave seen you before I am come 'ere. You were at 'Ogwarts for ze last task."

He nods. "Yeah. Ron – my brother – is Harry's best friend. And Harry doesn't have any family of his own. Or none worth mentioning."

"I know. Poor 'Arry."

She eats another square of chocolate, blinking rapidly.

She is not going to start crying again. She has a family. A family who love her. She misses them. She wants to go home. She wants to go home.

"Fleur, why were you crying?" His voice is kind, the concern in his eyes looks genuine.

He is not supposed to call her that. He is meant to call her "Miss Delacour". Gringotts is nothing if not formal. No one has called her by her first name since she got here. Why does someone being kind to her make her want to cry even more?

"I was not…"

"Yes you were. Can I help?"

She shakes her head and takes another square of chocolate.

He was right. Chocolate does help. A bit.

"I am – I do not know ze word in Eenglish. I want my 'ome. I miss ma famille."

"Homesick?" he asks gently.

She nods. "Oui. If zat is ze word. I am 'omesick."

She tries the word out on her tongue. It is unfamiliar, like the chocolate.

"I'm sorry." He looks like he really is. "That's a horrible feeling."

"You know?" She looks up at him in surprise.

She is not sure she believes him. With his easy self-confidence he does not look as if her were ever scared or worried or – homesick – in his life.

"I know." He helps himself to more chocolate. "I went to work in Africa for Gringotts straight out of Hogwarts. I was horribly homesick at first. It gets better – really."

She swallows, wanting to believe him.

"I 'ope so. I cannot go 'ome. I zhust cannot."

"Why not?"

She lifts her chin proudly.

"I am not effrayée. I am not a coward. I 'ave to show zem I can do zis. Zat I am not zhust…" She hesitates.

She does not want this man to think she is vain.

"Beautiful?" He finishes the sentence for her. "You were a Triwizard Champion. I don't think you have to prove anything to anyone."

"I came last."

He grimaces. "Someone had to. And in view of what happened to Cedric, perhaps coming last wasn't so bad."

They both reach for the chocolate at the same time. Their hands touch. She feels herself blushing. He smiles and hands her a piece of chocolate.

Cedric. She does not want to think about him. He was kind, brave, handsome. He is dead.

She shivers, and looks up again.

"Do you sink zat 'e is really back? You Know 'Oo?"

He nods, his face grim and his eyes suddenly hard. "Cedric didn't drop dead of his own accord, and I don't believe the Ministry line that it was an accident. Harry's telling the truth. He's back."

"Miss Delacour!" The female voice behind them is harsh, making them both jump.

He is quicker than she is. He slides the remains of the chocolate into the desk drawer and shuts it before she has even realised what he is doing. Then he pulls a piece of parchment and a quill towards him, scribbles rapidly and folds it over.

He turns to the intruder with a smile.

"Miss Delacour was just helping me with something, Miss Payne," he says. "I am so sorry if I've distracted her from her work."

Few women are able to resist Bill Weasley when he smiles like that.

"That's quite alright, Mr. Weasley," the older woman simpers, unconsciously smoothing her robes with her hands. "No problem at all."

"Thank you Miss Delacour." He gives her the ghost of a wink as he straightens up. "If you would deal with that later, I'd be grateful." He indicates the parchment, and smiles at her as he leaves.

When her boss has gone, Fleur unfolds the parchment.

"I'll meet you outside after work. You need to be introduced to English beer as well as English chocolate. B.W."

She smiles.

Perhaps working here will not be so bad after all.

-

**Hot Chocolate and Marshmallows**** (December 1995)**

He should be here by now.

She is trying hard not to worry, but she cannot help herself. She saw him last night. He said, "See you tomorrow." Nothing about not coming into work today. He would have told her if he was not coming.

Something has happened.

Something has happened to _him._

She does not know the details – he will not (or cannot, she is not sure which) tell her, but she suspects he is involved in the resistance against You Know Who. She fears rather than knows that what he is doing is dangerous.

She knows she has not missed him arriving. She has not stopped watching the door since she arrived herself. They are discreet and professional at work, call each other "Mr. Weasley" and "Miss Delacour". Only his friend and fellow curse-breaker Zoran Madic and the Austrian secretary with whom she has become friendly know that there is anything more than a work relationship between them, although there have been rumours. (Gringotts is a hotbed of gossip.) But there has not been a morning since that day in July when they shared that chocolate that she has not looked out for his arrival, that he has not given her a wink or a grin as he passes.

So where the hell is he now?

Something has happened.

Something has happened to _him._

By the end of the morning, she is so edgy and irritable that even Gisela is avoiding talking to her. (Gisela Schenke is the one real friend she has here. She is a foreign trainee like Fleur, and comes from Vienna. She is much more popular with the English girls than Fleur is herself. Fleur tries to stifle the uncharitable thought that it is because Gisela is – to put it kindly – ordinary looking.) Miss Payne has told her off for inattention three times this morning, and Fleur has to admit that – for once – she deserves it. Her mind is far away from the columns of figures in front of her.

Where the hell is Bill?

She eats lunch at her desk, pretending to read a magazine, but watching the door the whole time. He still does not come.

She wonders if Zoran Madic knows where he is. Can she fabricate an excuse to go up to the curse-breakers' floor and ask him? She is desperate enough to try it.

Then – finally – as she is screwing up her courage to go to Miss Payne, she hears his voice. She must have been gazing blankly at her hated paperwork when he came in, because she did not see him arrive. But now he is in the foyer outside the secretaries' large office, having an intense discussion in Gobbledygook with Ranget and Dungmin. (She has no idea what they are saying, her own grasp of Gobbledygook having failed to progress beyond the most basic of greetings, but she is so pleased to see him – to see him safe – that she has to force herself to remain at her desk; to at least look as if she is working; not to run out and fling her arms around him.)

He finishes his conversation, and heads for the stairs, shooting a quick glance and a wink in her direction. She smiles back, hoping that The Payne and the more bitchy of the English girls will fail to notice. He looks _awful_ – unshaven, pale-faced, with lines around his eyes and mouth that are not normally there, and dark shadows under his eyes that make it look as if he has not slept all night. She wants to run to him and hug him; to ask what the matter is; to somehow make it alright for him. She cannot do anything of the sort. Gladys Porlock, the cattiest of the English girls, is watching her closely. Gladys has had a crush on Bill Weasley for months (that is an open secret), and suspects Fleur of having designs on him. She will not miss an opportunity of getting "that French bitch" into trouble. Fleur sighs, and returns to the columns of figures.

- - -

He really could have done without coming into work today. What he really wants to do is go home, have a shower and _sleep_. But he doesn't have a choice. Ranget and Dungmin would be angry enough at him taking the morning off at no notice without him taking the afternoon too. Zoran would do his best to cover for him: he was a good mate. But he couldn't expect Zoran to finish the backlog in the Indian and Egyptian treasure input on his own.

At least if he goes into work, he will see Fleur. That on its own is actually a good enough reason to go in. The very thought of her makes him smile, despite the night he has just passed. Sometimes he is frightened by the depth of his feelings for her and by the speed at which they have developed. He has had girlfriends before, of course – plenty of them – but she is different. He lists the objections to her in his mind – she is too young for him, she is foreign, he knows instinctively that his mother (and probably Ginny too) will hate her, he should not be getting involved with _anyone_ while being a member of the Order. It makes no difference. There is no way he can get _uninvolved_ with Fleur now.

Ranget and Dungmin collar him the minute he enters the building, and it is a while before he can free himself from them and their complaints and head for the stairs. He glances over to where Fleur's silvery fair head stands out among the browns and blacks of the other secretaries, and shoots her a quick wink. Even at this distance, he can see the warmth and relief in her expression as she smiles at him. He is tempted to brave Miss Payne's wrath and go over to her; to tell her what has happened; to see the sympathy and concern in her eyes, but he knows that he can't. She will get into much more trouble than he will if he does so.

He will see her later. She will be waiting for him after work. The thought gets him through the afternoon.

He is late leaving, but she is waiting for him in the usual place, outside a boarded up shop a little way up Diagon Alley. She is huddled in her coat and scarf against the damp and cold, and he suspects she is cursing the English winter, but her face lights up as she sees him coming. She practically runs into his arms and hugs him tight.

"But where were you? I was so worrieed. Somesing 'as 'appened?"

He holds her tight, burying his face in her hair.

"My Dad was-was hurt. He's-he's in St. Mungo's." His voice is shaking, despite his best efforts to keep it level. Fleur pulls away from him, holding his arms and looking up into his face.

"Come." She takes his hand, and tows him down Diagon Alley. She has a tiny flat – one room and a share in a bathroom – above Eeylops' Owl Emporium (she can hear the owls hooting all night, and it drives her mad). She pulls him up the stairs and into her room, depositing him in the one armchair. He is too worn out to protest or argue. He likes the way she has taken charge and is taking care of him. This is a reversal – up to now in their relationship, he has been the one in charge, he has been the one looking after her. She goes to the tiny kitchenette at the end of the room, and returns with two mugs of hot chocolate. She hands one to Bill, and perches on the arm of the chair.

"Your fazzer?" she asks. "'E will be alright?"

He takes a gulp of his drink. It is warm and comforting, like Fleur herself.

He nods. "Yeah. It-it looked like he might not be for a while, but – yeah, he'll be okay."

He is trying not to think of how his father looked when he arrived at St. Mungo's – so still and pale, as if he were dead already. Even more, he is trying not to think of the look in his mother's eyes when she told him that the Healers thought that his father might not make it. He chokes on a sob, and puts his drink down, burying his face in his hands.

Fleur puts her own drink on the table beside his, and wraps her arms around him. She frees his hair from its ponytail, and runs her fingers through it.

"Can you tell me what 'appened?" she asks gently.

She feels him shake his head. "I'm – sorry Fleur. I just – can't."

She sighs. She knows there are things he cannot – will not – share with her. It does not matter. She loves him. She will take those things on trust.

She holds him close, stroking his hair, and murmuring to him in French as he cries. He understands less than one word in four, but it helps. Eventually, he stops crying.

She re-heats the chocolate and finds some marshmallows to go with it. He pulls her onto his lap and holds her close as they drink.

He is not going to let this girl go.

-

**Coffee and Chocolate**** (February 1996)**

"Fleur, I'm sorry."

"Yes. So you said."

"I don't know what else you want me to say."

_Damn. This is the nearest thing to a row they have had. She is not going to cry. She is not going to admit that she is being unreasonable. It's just a day. An ordinary day. (No, it's not, it is Valentine's Day. Their first. It is a big deal. It should be a big deal to him too._ He _is the one being unreasonable.)_

"You will not even tell me where you are going."

"I_can't_ Fleur. You know I can't."

"I know you will not. You do not tell me why you _cannot_."

"I would if I could. Don't you trust me?"

"If_you_ trusted me, you would tell me where you are going."

"That's not fair, Fleur. I do trust you, but I can't tell you. I just can't."

"So you keep saying. Zis is getting us nowhere. I will see you on Monday?"

"Yeah. I'll be at work on Monday. We'll go out Monday night."

"Oui."

She turns her face away when he tries to kiss her.

_She cries when he is gone. Now he will be angry with her. But it is not fair that he will leave her on her own on what should be their first Valentine's Day. It is_ not _fair._

_He should at least trust her enough to tell her why, to say where he is going._

_(Oh God. What if what he is doing is dangerous? What if something happens to him? What if the last conversation they ever had was an argument?)_

- - -

"This is a hell of a way to celebrate Valentine's Day."

Bill smiles at his companion, though he can barely see in her in the faint light shed by their two wands. "So who is he then?"

"Who is who?"

"The person you'd rather be spending Valentine's with. Come on, Tonks, spill the beans."

She sighs. "He's hypothetical unfortunately. And I could do without the hypothetical person just for a cup of hot chocolate and somewhere warm. Anything would be better than sitting around here in the dark and cold watching out for Death Eaters."

"You have a point there."

There is a rap at the door of the magically-constructed hide, and they both point their wands at the door.

"Who is it?" Bill calls.

"Me. Let me in, it's cold out here."

"Password?"

"Memphis. And why you have to pick on American towns is beyond me."

"Egyptian, not American," Bill says with a grin, as he flicks his wand to open the door of the hide and admit Remus Lupin. "Anything happening out there?"

"Dolohov just arrived. And someone else – Goyle by the build of him. Godric, but it's cold. There are lights on in the main room, but there doesn't seem to be much movement. My guess is they're just talking."

Tonks grimaces. "So we're freezing here for nothing."

Lupin raises his eyebrows at her. "Would you _rather_ they were off attacking Muggleborns?"

She has the grace to look slightly ashamed of herself. "No, but at least it might keep us warm."

"True." Lupin rummages in his bag and pulls out a large bar of chocolate, a flask of coffee and three mugs.

"Remus, I think I love you," Tonks enthuses, tripping over the bag as she goes to hold a mug for Lupin to fill, and being caught by Bill.

Once they each have a steaming mug and a chunk of chocolate in their hands, Lupin turns to Bill. "Since it's Valentine's Day, I want to know about this jeune fille of yours."

Bill slops his coffee on the ground and swears. He is glad that it is dark enough that they cannot see him blush. "Who have you been talking to?" he demands.

"I have my sources. Sirius actually, via Harry who got it from Fred – or George."

Bill groans. "That figures."

"Who is she?" Tonks demands. "I can't believe you were teasing _me_ about Valentine's earlier."

"Smokescreen," Bill admits. "Fleur Delacour, if you must know."

"The Beauxbatons champion? She's too young for you."

"Merlin, Tonks, you sound like my mother!"

"So your mother knows?" Lupin asks slyly.

Bill groans again. "No, of course she doesn't. Unless the twins have said something to her, in which case I may have to kill them. I mean she sounds like my mother _would_ if she knew."

"Is it serious?" Tonks enquires.

"Yeah. Yeah it is actually." He doesn't realise he is smiling, and it is too dark for the others to notice.

Lupin looks at his watch. "Ten thirty. Someone ought to go out again."

"My turn." Bill drains his mug and sets it on the ground. "Give me a password."

"Beauxbatons," Lupin says seriously.

"Very funny."

Tonks and Lupin's laughter follows him as he pulls out his wand and leaves the hide.

- - -

Fleur and Gisela decide to make the best of a bad job and celebrate Valentine's Day together. (Gisela's boyfriend Gottfried works for the Austrian Ministry of Magic, and is at a conference this weekend. Fleur has to stifle the uncharitable thought that at least Gisela knows what he is doing.)

They go to a Muggle cinema, and see a ridiculously soppy film about a couple meeting on top of a skyscraper on Valentine's Day. It makes them both cry.

Then they return to Fleur's flat (Gisela's is even tinier than hers) and share a takeaway, a bottle of wine, Austrian coffee and French chocolate.

They have a surprisingly good time.

(But Bill and Gottfried don't need to know that.)

-

**Chocolates and Couscous**** (February 1996)**

Both Gisela and Fleur have something waiting for them on their desk when they arrive at work on Monday morning. Gisela has an enormous bunch of red roses from Gottfried. (Fleur can hear Miss Payne moaning about the room they take up already, although she has not actually turned up yet.)

Fleur herself finds a heart-shaped box of chocolates (French ones – Bill knows her pretty well by now) with a red rose attached. There is a note too: "_Fleur love, I am so sorry about Saturday. I missed you all weekend, and I can't wait to see you. Forgive me? Please? Love always, Bill. xxxxxxx_" She cannot help smiling as she pops a chocolate in her mouth and stows the box in her drawer away from prying eyes. It is too hard to be mad with Bill for long. She catches Gladys Porlock shooting her a look of pure malice as she straightens up, and smiles at her sweetly. She can afford to be magnanimous. _She_ – not poor Gladys with her magically dyed blonde hair and her slight air of desperation – is the one the best-looking, kindest,_loveliest_ man in the bank missed all weekend.

She only sees him twice all day, and then briefly, mid-morning, The Payne sends her up to the curse-breakers' floor with a sheaf of papers for Delloran Gumble, the head curse-breaker, to sign. Bill's office door is open as she passes, and she glances in and sees him and Zoran Madic both deeply absorbed in examining a jewel-encrusted casket that looks both valuable and somehow sinister. He does not notice her, and she tries hard not to mind. (It is not his fault. He is busy.) In the afternoon, he comes down to their floor to see Miss Payne about something, and gives her a grin and a wink in full view of Gladys, who pouts and scowls, and makes remarks about "pushy French tarts" for the rest of the afternoon. Fleur ignores her. She can afford to. She is the one going out with Bill this evening.

For once, he is at their meeting place before she is. (She is not sure why they continue to meet at the boarded-up shop further down Diagon Alley rather than at the bank. Their relationship is pretty much an open secret at work now. Perhaps it is just a habit.) He sweeps her into his arms when she arrives, kissing her hard and long.

"I missed you _so_ much," he tells her as they break apart. "Have you forgiven me?"

She smiles, and links her arm through his. "'Ow can I not forgive a man who buys me chocolats Francais?" she asks, laughing up at him. "Where are we going?"

"Wait and see," he grins, putting his arm around her, and pulling a battered looking quill from his pocket. "Portkey," he tells her. "Are you ready?"

"Why can't we zhust Apparate?" she asks.

"Too far. Ready?" The Portkey is glowing blue, and she puts her hand on it, touching his.

The place where they land, him holding her upright (she hates travelling by Portkey), is warm, smells spicy, and is definitely not in England. Not France either.

"Where are we?" she gasps, as she regains her balance.

"Look over there," he tells her, grinning.

Pyramids. Mon Dieu, this is a man who takes her to _Egypt_for dinner? _Egypt?_ She cannot help laughing.

They eat couscous and lamb in a tiny restaurant where Bill is obviously known. Of course, he worked here for several years. His Arabic is halting at first, but comes back to him as the evening progresses.

They talk and laugh, and the evening passes far too quickly. He asks her about her weekend, and she has to admit that she had a good time with Gisela on Saturday night. He pulls a face when she describes the film to him though.

"A skyscraper? In New York? In February? Sounds bloody cold to me," he says.

"I sink I prefer zis," she admits. "'Ow was _your_ weekend?"

"Bloody cold. But not in New York. No skyscrapers either." (He briefly considers telling her the truth – that he spent it with a werewolf and the girl he fought with his brother over when he was seventeen. But he doesn't think that would go down well. Particularly the last part.) He sighs. "I wish I could tell you, Fleur. I want to. I hope I'll be able to soon, but it's not up to me."

She smiles and takes his hand. "It's okay. I trust you. I am sorry I was 'orreeble about it."

"Thank you." He leans over the table and kisses her. "Are you ready to go home?"

"I guess so. Back to reality," she sighs.

"Reality with you is pretty good," he tells her, as he settles the bill and pulls out the Portkey.

He spends the night at her flat, but for the sake of appearances they leave to go to work separately in the morning. As she passes the boarded-up shop where they meet, she notices a new sign above it: "_93 Diagon Alley. Let Agreed_." It does not matter. They do not need a secret place to meet any more. As far as she is concerned, the _whole world_ can know that they are together.

It would be nice if it was to become a chocolate shop though.


	23. Neville and Hannah

The Magic of a Half Eaten Box of Chocolates

(Neville/Hannah)

By Realmer06

* * *

Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott had been dating for almost fourteen months when she first told him that she didn't like Valentine's Day.

Actually, what she said was, "Oh, and just so you know, I'm working the pub on the fourteenth, so we won't be able to go out, which is actually just as well, to be perfectly honest." He had asked what she meant, and then she had explained that she didn't much like Valentine's Day. "I've always found the holiday to be a little ridiculous, actually. If you are romantically involved, it's just an overused excuse to buy expensive, trite presents and be lovey-dovey in extremely inappropriate places; if you're not romantically involved, the day only serves as a pathetic reminder of that fact." And then she'd brushed past him, rag in hand, to continue wiping down the tables of the Leaky Cauldron Pub.

"You didn't mention any of this last year," Neville pointed out. Hannah shrugged.

"Well, last year was the first Valentine's Day that we were together. It was supposed to be special, if only for the sake of tradition. But now it's over and done with and out of the way, for which I am exceedingly grateful. I get enough of its traditions vicariously just by working. I mean, really. Do you know how many marriage proposals I've seen happen on February 14? How unoriginal! Really, I pity those girls."

Hannah didn't know it, but this point of view posed a bit of a problem.

"Yes, I quite agree," Neville murmured uncomfortably, fiddling with the ring he'd been carrying in his pocket for the past few weeks.

Neville had never been what he would call a romantic person. For most of his life, he'd been rather uncomfortable around girls. He'd never known how to talk to them, and he'd never been able to pull off eloquence and charm very well. He'd known for a long time now that he wanted to marry Hannah; he'd bought the ring weeks ago. He just hadn't been able to figure out how to ask her.

And so Valentine's Day had seemed quite perfect. Take her out to a nice dinner, pay one of the waiters to bring her a bouquet of roses at the end of the meal, their stems held together by the ring he'd spent so long picking out. On Valentine's Day, it wouldn't have mattered that it was over the top, and one didn't need to be eloquent or romantic; the holiday took care of that all on its own.

Hannah turned to watch her boyfriend as he frowned at the floor of the pub. "Is it a problem, Neville?" she asked, and then she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "You'd already made plans!" she said, distressed. "Oh, gosh, I'm sorry! It's just, all the extra help begged off, and Uncle Tom needed someone, and you hadn't said anything, so I just – I'll make it up to you, Neville, I promise!"

Neville forced himself to smile. "Nothing had been finalized," he told her, trying to act casual and brush it off.

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking concerned still, a hand on his arm. He covered her hand with his and smiled more convincingly.

"Perfectly," he said, and he leaned down and kissed her.

But as he walked out of the pub a few minutes later, pulling his cloak around him to ward off the cold, the smile faded from his face. He had a problem.

When he thought back on it, Neville found he could define his relationship with Hannah through three key moments, comprised of a date and an object. Purely by coincidence, the dates corresponded with the three most significant days in his life: the second of May, the thirtieth of July, and the twenty-fourth of December. The day Lord Voldemort was defeated, his birthday, and Christmas Eve. This had all started May 2nd nearly two years ago, with a rose.

**May 2, 2001: A Rose**

On the third anniversary of Harry Potter's defeat of Voldemort, Neville found himself in the Leaky Cauldron with a bouquet of roses on the table in front of him. The roses were very special roses; he had cultivated them himself in the greenhouse he'd built on his grandmother's property. Through a variety of means, he had cross-bred and nurtured until he had developed a species of roses: white lightly veined with red, gold, green, and blue, to signify the final battle, all those who had fought in it, and the unity that had ultimately been its goal. For the past two years, he had lain a bouquet of these roses at the base of the memorial that now stood on Hogwarts' grounds. But this year, for some reason, he had felt compelled to visit the pub first.

Tom the bartender had brought him a cup of tea – he wasn't in the mood for anything stronger – and he'd been left more or less alone since then. The others in the pub were caught up in their own celebrations of the day, which left Neville alone to his memories, at least, until someone caught sight of him and recognized him for who he was.

"Aren't you Neville Longbottom?" came a voice, shaking him out of his thoughts. He looked up. The voice belonged to a very pretty girl who couldn't be much younger than he was. "The war hero?" Without waiting for a response, she squealed and clutched at his arm. "Oh, I can't believe I'm meeting you in person! I was at Hogwarts three years ago; only a fifth year, but I remember you perfectly, of course!"

Neville had no idea how to respond, and before he could come up with anything, he was suddenly surrounded by fawning witches, as if the original had summoned them with _Accio_. It was a highly uncomfortable situation for the young man.

_Is this what it's like for Harry?_ he wondered, panicked. There were so many people, surrounded him, all vying for his attention. He wanted nothing more than to Disapparate on the spot. He felt like he was suffocating, buried under females. Then –

"Okay, okay, for Merlin's sake, let a man breathe!" came a crisp, authoritative voice. Slowly, the pestering girls dissipated, and Neville felt able to draw breath again. He looked around for his savior, and was met with the sight of a familiar blonde girl, hands on hips, glaring after the gaggle as they made their way back to their individual celebrations.

"Thanks for that," Neville said. "I think I may owe you my life." The girl laughed.

"I'm happy to do anything I can to save someone from death by vulture, Neville Longbottom." And she smiled at him, and Neville couldn't help but smile back.

"Hannah Abbott, right?" he asked, and she nodded. "It's been ages."

"Three years," she said. There was a long pause. Then, "Well, if you're all right," and she turned to go. Before he had really registered doing anything, Neville had half stood up, saying, "No, wait!" Hannah turned back, waiting, and Neville realized he had no idea what to say next. "I –" he started, and, casting desperately for something else, finished with, "They might come back."

_Oh, well done, Longbottom,_ he thought sarcastically as soon as the words had left his mouth. _Real smooth, Longbottom. Excellently well done. Make her think you're afraid of a bunch of twittering girls. Impressive. I'm surprised she managed not to fall at your feet with that one._

Wincing at his stupidity, Neville took a deep breath, ended his mental berating, and tried again. "What I _meant_ was, if you're not too busy right now, would you like to sit and catch up?" He glanced up at her, fully expecting her to look at him with pity and then say no, probably calling him 'sweet' in the meantime. He hated that word.

He didn't expect her to be smiling with laughter. And it was even kind laughter. Dumbstruck, he watched as she walked behind the counter, took off her apron and called, "Uncle Tom, I'm taking my break!" She glanced back at him when she said, "There's an old friend here."

A few moments later, she returned to his table, two Butterbeers in hand, one of which she offered to him as she sat. "Thanks," he said, taking it from her. As the two of them sipped their drinks, Neville tried hard not to notice how awkward he felt. He'd asked her over here, and now had no idea what to talk about. He opened his mouth, probably to utter one of a thousand incredibly boring and cliche icebreaker statements, but he never got the chance because Hannah spoke first.

"These are unusual roses," she said, her fingers lightly brushing the petals of the one nearest. "Your work, I suppose?" And she glanced to him.

"Oh, I – yes," Neville sputtered, mentally kicking himself once more. Why was it that the only female he could actually talk to with ease was Luna Lovegood? "I bred them."

"They're beautiful," she said, her gaze returning to the flowers. "I've never seen anything like them. Do they have a name?"

Neville shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, but it's kind of dumb. I'm not great at naming things."

"I'm sure that's not true," Hannah insisted kindly.

"They're – I call them Unity Roses," Neville mumbled apologetically, looking down.

"That's beautiful," she breathed sincerely. Then she snapped her fingers and looked up at him. "_That's_ where I've seen these! You leave these at the memorial every year!"

"I – yes, I do. You – you've seen them?"

"Oh, yes, I note them every year when I visit. They're very . . . unique. I've often wondered where they came from. But I suppose I should have known it was you." Neville cleared his throat, trying to dispel his sudden inexplicable nerves.

"Oh?" he asked, hoping to sound casual. She glanced at him, hiding a smile.

"Well, you did outshine everyone in Herbology, including Hermione Granger." Neville could feel himself blushing. Hannah laughed. "Oh, come now, Neville. You're a great war hero. Can't you take praise?"

It took Neville a few moments of defensive mumbling to realize she was teasing him.

"Speaking of war heroes," she said, recognizing that he was uncomfortable, "why are you not off celebrating like the rest of the wizarding world?"

Neville shrugged. "I celebrate in my own way. Quietly. I bring these roses to the memorial, and I go to the Ministry remembrance. But other than that, I'm inclined to agree with Harry. It's a day to remember, not to be forgotten. But I lost too much and too many that day to ever really celebrate it."

Hannah nodded contemplatively, rolling her bottle back and forth in her hands. "I can understand that," she said softly.

"You lost people in the war?" Neville said, halfway between a question and a statement. Hannah nodded.

"My mother," she said, looking down. "She was killed by Death Eaters in our sixth year."

"I'm sorry," Neville said softly. Hannah smiled.

"It was a long time ago," she said.

"That doesn't matter," Neville said. And they shared a smile, and in that moment, things shifted and eased between them. "Look," Neville said. "I don't want to seem to forward or presumptuous or anything, but would you like to come to the memorial with me?"

Hannah looked away. "I can't," she said.

"Oh," said Neville. "Well, I understand, it's not –"

"No, I mean I really can't," she said, that hint of a smile returning. "I work until four. But if you can wait . . .?" Neville grimaced.

"I really can't," he said apologetically. "The Ministry's remembrance is tonight, and I'm expected to be there."

There was a slight pause, then Hannah said, "Can I ask you something?" At Neville's nod, she continued. "Why attend if you dislike the attention so much?" Neville shrugged.

"Harry, Ron, and Hermione won't be there for the celebration, so I guess I have to be the token hero." Hannah frowned.

"Harry won't be there?" she asked.

"He'll be at the remembrance ceremony, but he's not staying for the celebration after, no. It's his niece's second birthday, so he has a legitimate excuse. All three of them do," Neville clarified. Hannah nodded, still frowning slightly.

"I see," she said finally. "I have to get back," she said, an apologetic smile on her face. "I'm glad you stopped by, Neville."

"So am I," he said with a smile, surprised to find he really meant it.

"Don't be a stranger, all right?" she said, standing. Impulsively, she reached down and squeezed his hand before turning to go.

"Hannah!" he said suddenly, calling her back. "Here." And he held out a single rose. Looking confused but touched, she reached out slowly and took it.

"Why are you giving this to me?" she asked him.

"Because you made a sacrifice for unity," he said. "This rose is as much yours as it is anyone's." She looked down at the rose, genuinely touched.

"Thank you, Neville," she said softly.

"No problem. And anytime I need rescuing, I'll be sure to give you a call." She laughed.

"You do that."

He left the pub that day with a smile on his face.

To Neville, May 2nd had long been a day of somber remembrance and reflection. But from then on, in the years to come, when he thought of that day, he would think of a rose and of the day that he first got to know Hannah Abbott.

**July 30, 2001: A Box of Chocolates**

It was just after the dinner hour of his twenty-first birthday that Neville walked into the Leaky Cauldron pub and sat down in what had become his usual table. It only took Hannah a few minutes to hang up her apron and come over, Butterbeers in hand.

"It seems I should no longer be surprised by when you choose to come in here," she said by way of greeting. "I mean, if you come in on your birthday, which you should be spending with family and friends, you'll come in any time." Neville smiled indulgently, then realized what she'd said.

"Wait, how do you know today is my birthday?" he asked. She shrugged.

"Same way I know anything, I suppose," she said. "At some point in my life, someone told me."

"And you held onto the information?" The look she gave him was unreadable.

"Yes?" she answered finally. "Neville, I think that you would be surprised and a little bit uncomfortable with just how many people know that today is your birthday." He considered her point.

"It just always gets overshadowed by Harry, that's all," he said.

"That all depends on who has the information," she informed him. Neville smiled.

"Sit," he said. She did.

"So, you still haven't answered the question," she told him, opening her bottle with a twist of the cap. "What are you doing in a pub on your birthday?" Neville shrugged and looked down, tracing a burn in the tabletop with his finger.

"I spent the morning with my parents," he said finally, wondering how much Hannah knew. Over the course of his lifetime, Neville had told precious few people about his parents, but things had changed since the war. Now, obviously, things he'd previously thought to be relatively secret had somehow become common knowledge, and he wasn't sure he was comfortable with that notion.

However, Hannah's response proved that this, at least, still was mostly secret. With an understanding grimace, she said, "They're that bad, huh? Well, you're not alone there; I know plenty of people who need a stiff drink after a day visiting the folks."

Still looking down, Neville smiled sadly. Her words didn't hurt the way someone else's might have. And somehow, where in many other situations, he would have kept quiet, Neville never thought twice about telling her.

"My parents are in St. Mungo's," he said softly. He heard Hannah's gasp and glanced up. Her hand had flown to her mouth and she looked quite horrified.

"Oh, God, Neville, I'm sorry! I didn't know! For how long? Are they all right? What happened?" she said, apologizing. Neville just gave her another small smile and shook his head.

"Almost twenty years ago now, when I was just a few months past a year old, Bellatrix Lestrange and a group of Death Eaters broke into our house and tortured my parents into insanity," he said softly, matter-of-factly. He met her eyes then. "They've been in Mungo's ever since. It's the only way I've ever known them."

"Oh, how horrible," she whispered. "Neville, I'm so sorry." He shrugged.

"I've long since come to terms with it, Hannah," he said gently. "They gave up their lives rather than give in to Lestrange's demands. They were heroes, and I spent most of my life trying to live up to them, knowing I never could." Hannah frowned, twisting the end of her long plait around her fingers.

"That doesn't sound much like coming to terms with it," she said, clearly not sure whether she should be mentioning that or not. Neville laughed.

"No, it doesn't, does it?" He sighed. "Greatest irony. I only finally lived up to their legacy when I stopped worrying about being able to. That's when I came to terms with it. Three, four years ago." He looked past her, caught up in his thoughts.

After a few moments of heavy silence, Hannah said, very softly, "I really am sorry for what I said, Neville. I didn't mean anything by it. I didn't know."

Neville shook his head. "No, Hannah. There are very few people who do know. Most just assume my parents are dead. I think . . . I think in some ways I almost prefer that." The last was said in a very pained voice. "It's not that I'm ashamed of them; I'm not. I love them. I just wish . . ." He looked away. He didn't know how to say it. "They were so full of life, you know?" he asked, meeting Hannah's gaze. "From all accounts, they were so full of life. They were Aurors, they were heroes . . . I can't imagine they would have chosen this. But I'll never know. I can see them, I can talk to them, but I'll never _know_ them. They gave up their lives at 21. As surely as Harry's parents, they gave up their lives. They exist still, yes. But they aren't living. And I'll never get to know them. I'll only ever know the legends, the heroes. I only ever got to know what I could never be."

He felt breathless, admitting it. He'd never said so much to anyone before, never. Nervously, he glanced at Hannah, hoping he hadn't scared her off, hoping she didn't now think he was a horrible person.

She was frowning, and she didn't meet his gaze. For a moment, his heart lurched as he thought the worst. Then she spoke. "Who said you could never be that?" she asked quietly.

"My grandmother," he answered honestly. The answer had slipped out before he'd intended to speak, but he'd been painfully honest this far. "My whole life, she wanted me to be someone I never could."

"Who?"

"My father." He said it without bitterness, without anger or pain. It was a truth he'd long ago accepted. "In her eyes, I always fell short of him. Until the final battle. I like to think she was proud of me because I came into my own, and I think she was, but I also know a lot of it was more because I had finally done what my father would have. And it's all too mixed up for her to separate it." Hannah looked almost furious to hear that, and strangely enough, that touched him.

"It took her the final battle to be proud of you?" she asked, forcing her voice to remain soft. "After everything you did our seventh year?" Neville shifted, a little uncomfortable.

"I didn't really do anything our seventh year –"

"Yes, you did!" she cried passionately. "Neville, how can you say that? Of _course_ you did! Do you have any idea how many people you kept going? When Dumbledore was gone and Harry was gone and Snape and the Carrows were in charge? There were times when we all wanted to just give up and despair, but then _you_ were always there! You gave so many people hope, Neville. You gave _me_ hope, and the strength to get through that year."

Neville stared at her. She looked down, coloring. "Really?" Neville whispered.

"Really," she replied. Then, with a small half-smile on her face, she said, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but . . . you were my hero." Neville looked down, smiling, truly touched now. A moment or two of silence passed then, before Hannah said, in a much different tone of voice, "Neville, this is horrible birthday conversation!" She glared at him, accusing, but a smile was playing around her lips.

"Er . . . sorry?" Neville said, amused.

"As well you should be," was her prim response. "Lucky for you, I have just the thing to fix it. Be right back." And she was up and away, leaving Neville sitting alone at the table.

He wasn't alone for long, however. Within a few moments, she was back, setting a thin white box ceremoniously on the table in front of him with a cheery, "Ta da!"

"And what is this?" he asked, glancing up at her. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, I don't know, Neville. When you get a gift for your birthday and you want to know what's inside, what do you usually do?" With a roll of his own eyes, Neville lifted the lid. He stared at what was inside for a moment.

"It's a box of chocolates," he finally said.

"Yep!" she said with a grin, sliding into her seat.

"It's a half-eaten box of chocolates," he added. If possible, her grin widened.

"Quite right," she said, crossing her arms and looking extremely proud of herself.

"I don't think anyone's ever given me a half-eaten box of chocolates for my birthday before," he informed her.

"See how lucky you are to have me?" she asked, reaching across the table to help herself to more of his gift. He stared at her as she popped the candy into her mouth, the full impact of her words hitting him as he realized something he hadn't quite been able to put together before that moment. "What is it?" she asked when his gaze didn't falter, self-consciously holding a hand in front of her mouth.

Wordlessly, he shook his head. "Nothing," he said, before smiling and eating one of his chocolates.

To Neville, July 30th had always been a day of half celebration and half pain, another year gone by, added and lost. But from then on, in the years to come, when he thought of that day, he would think of a box of chocolates and of the day that he fell in love with Hannah Abbott.

**December 24, 2001: A Kiss**

In the months that followed, Neville made several very important decisions: the decision to leave the Auror program when his three-year contract expired mid-August; the decision to enroll in schooling to become a teacher; the decision to take Professor Sprout's advice and vie for the Herbology post when she retired in a few years. But the decision he hadn't been able to make was the one concerning the newfound realization that he was in love.

It was a strange and distracting feeling for him, and he really didn't know what to do with it. He had always assumed that falling in love would be a rather disastrous and uncomfortable experience for him, given his track record with girls in the past. There just seemed to be a much higher potential for embarrassment when the idea of spending an entire evening trying to be romantic was involved.

But things were different with Hannah. Not counting the beginning of his first attempt at conversation, he'd never had any trouble talking with her. He was more comfortable around her than he'd ever been around really anyone except maybe Ginny seventh year.

But the fact of the matter remained that he had no real idea how to go about being in love. So he kept it to himself until he had time to sit down and figure it out.

And so it was that he entered the Leaky Cauldron nearly five months later, on Christmas Eve, the only person in the world who knew that he was in love with Hannah Abbott.

Hannah was the first person to see him as he entered the pub; the way her eyes lit up when she looked up to see who had jingled the bell on the door made his heart skip a beat or two. Grinning, she left the small cluster of people gathered around a half-decorated tree and came over to him.

"Christmas Eve, Neville?" she asked by way of greeting. "Really?" And he smiled sheepishly and shrugged.

"What can I say? I missed your beautiful face," he said, completely serious but knowing she wouldn't take it that way. And she didn't disappoint.

"Why, Mr. Longbottom!" she said, faking shock, a hand pressed to her chest. "If I had known the evening included such flattery, I'd have invited you long ago!" Her eyes twinkled, physical sign of the laughter he had learned was never far from her lips.

When she hugged him, he relished the feeling of her in his arms and leaned down to whisper, "Merry Christmas, Hannah," in her ear.

"Come on," she said with a smile, tugging at his hand. "Help us decorate the tree." He let her lead him the direction of the enormous pine tree in the pub's corner. "Our other guest for the evening won't," she called over her shoulder. "Something about a nargle infestation, I think?" Neville's head snapped up.

"Luna's here?" he asked, stopping and looking around. Hannah snapped her fingers, dropping his hand.

"_That's_ her!" she said, hitting herself lightly in the forehead. "If there's one person I should be able to remember, it's her, but her name just went completely out of my head." Neville laughed.

"You forgot Luna Lovegood?" he asked. She grinned and rolled her eyes.

"I know, right?" There was a slight pause as Neville continued to scan the pub, then Hannah said, "You two are good friends, aren't you?"

"You could say that," Neville said. "It's . . . complicated." The fact that 'complicated' didn't even begin to explain the relationship he and Luna shared wasn't something he really wanted to get into tonight.

"Neville!" came a very familiar voice then, and Neville turned to see Luna hurrying toward him, bright green robes billowing out behind her, a large poinsettia clipped behind her ear, long hair flying.

Neville grinned, and then she was in front of him. "Merry Christmas, Luna," he said.

"Indeed," she responded, and then she kissed him.

She had been greeting him in this manner since the summer after his seventh year for reasons that he halfway but did not entirely understand. But by now, Neville was so accustomed to this response and the fact that nothing he could say or do would ever dissuade her from it that he just mentally rolled his eyes, smiled into her mouth and embraced her.

It was then that something pushed forcefully past his shoulder and he heard a tight voice say, "Excuse me, please," and then Hannah was gone.

Neville could have killed himself. He really was far too stupid sometimes to be allowed to have romantic attachments, and the way things were going now, he never would. Turning away from Luna, he called, "Hannah!" but she didn't stop. Angrily, he ran a hand through his hair, wondering how he was possibly ever going to fix this.

"She looked quite upset," Luna said, following Neville's gaze.

"Yeah," he said, more sigh than word. "She did."

"Well, you should go talk to her," Luna told him, looking up at him, her gaze as serious as it ever was.

"Yeah, I think I will," he said, distracted. And without looking at her, he began to follow the path of retreat Hannah had made.

"And be sure to mention that you're in love with her," Luna called after him. Stunned, Neville froze, then turned slowly to her, mouth open. "I think that's quite important," she stated matter-of-factly.

For a moment, Neville considered asking how she had known, how obvious he had been, if she knew whether his feelings were reciprocated, and a million other things, but in the end, he settled for a soft, "Luna, how is it that you see everything?"

The look she gave him was unreadable. "I look," she said simply. When their eyes met, Neville knew this was a moment where she was being serious in a normal person's kind of way.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

"Go," was her only reply.

He did. He moved toward the kitchen of the pub as fast as he could ever remember moving toward anything in his life, Voldemort's snake included. Ignoring the strange looks he received from Hannah's family clustered around the tree, but halfway noting that no one was stopping him, he rushed through the swinging doors. "Hannah!" he called, hoping she hadn't left or Disapperated, but knowing that even if she had, he wasn't going back home tonight until he'd found her.

But she hadn't left. She was standing in a corner of the kitchen, facing away from him, braced against the counter, her shoulders shaking with barely held in sobs. The sight broke his heart. He wanted to go find the bastard who'd made her cry and make him pay. Then he remembered just who that bastard was.

"Hannah, please, let me explain," he started, but in the next instant, she had turned, hastily trying to hide the evidence that she'd been crying only moments before.

"You don't need to explain anything," she said, brushing past him, refusing to look at him. She busied herself on the other side of the kitchen while Neville searched desperately for something to say.

"Look, Hannah, Luna and I –"

"It really doesn't matter, Neville," she said, cutting him off in a tone of voice that said quite clearly that it really _did_ matter. "I'm not sure I want to hear it, anyway. Not sure I could handle the explanation, and I think I've got a pretty clear picture of it on my own, thanks."

"Hannah–" he tried again, getting quite frustrated now with the way she kept cutting him off. But he was prevented from voicing anything of that frustration because she barely stopped talking. Her voice and actions both got more and more frantic and agitated as she went on.

"I mean, it's really my fault in the first place, right?" she said in a rush, moving piles of dishes to new spaces on the counter without purpose or direction. "I mean, after all, I just _assumed_ that, in six months of friendship, you would have mentioned a girlfriend or a–a complication, I think you called her? Instead of letting me get my hopes up, you know, but that's my fault, I just _assumed_, and I should have asked. Never mind that you never gave me any indication that I _needed_ to, but still, that's on me, right?"

If it had been anything less important, Neville might have laughed at the ridiculousness of what he was seeing, or, more likely, stood and stared at her. Luna? His girlfriend? That's really what she thought? If it had been less important, he would have laughed. But something prompted him to stride across the kitchen and grab her by the shoulders. He didn't know what it was really, he just had to do something, and that's what seemed right.

"You think I love _Luna_?" he asked her, almost insulted that she really thought he wouldn't have _mentioned _it before now.

"I don't know, Neville," she said, still refusing to look at him even though their faces were now less than a foot apart. "I think–" She swallowed. "I think she kissed you, and you didn't exactly object. And–"

But he couldn't let her continue. So this time, he spoke over her.

"I don't love Luna," he said, still holding her by the shoulders and trying to force her to look at him. "I couldn't! I've been in love with someone else for months!"

It hadn't come out at all the way he'd intended it to. She froze at his words, and Neville watched something shatter in her. For a long, horrible moment, she blinked back new tears, clearly determined not to cry in front of him. "Thank you," she said in a deadened voice that wasn't hers. And she gently slipped from his grasp. He curled his hands into fists, furious and wanting to punch something, preferably himself. In the mouth. Several times.

"It's you, okay?" he all but shouted. He had nothing left to lose now. Some brave hero. He'd messed everything up so far, and he was pretty sure there wasn't anything left for him to say that would make this any worse, so he might as well just get it all out. Closing his eyes, he shook his head, feeling like the absolute lowest creature on the earth. He sighed. "It's you," he repeated, still not turning around, not knowing if she was even there, listening.

"Me?" came her voice, very small and full of emotion.

"Yeah," he said angrily.

"For months?"

Not trusting himself to speak, he just nodded, his jaw clenched in frustration. There was a long silence, and he was afraid she might have left. But then she spoke again, the one question he knew was inevitable.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He could hear the hurt in her voice, and maybe that's what unleashed everything he was holding in, he didn't know.

"Because!" he said angrily, finally turning to her. "Because you're beautiful and smart and perfect and I'm me! And I'm –" Then her eyes met his, and he softened, his anger leaching out and leaving only regret and self-loathing. He sighed turning away again. "And I'm _bad_ at this," he muttered. "And I didn't want to ruin things, so I didn't say anything and managed to ruin it all anyway, which was, quite frankly, predictable. That's all I ever seem to do, really, ruin things. I'm _brilliant_ at it, at that and nothing else, really." He spat the words out bitterly, intended to continue, to go on kicking himself, but his was stopped by an iron-clad grip on his wrist, a grip that practically radiated anger on its own.

"Don't ever say that again," Hannah said in a hushed but furious tone, glaring up at him. He from her face to her hand and back again. "Don't you _dare_, Neville, you hear me?" Unable to say anything, Neville nodded. "You are _brilliant_, and smart and brave and passionate and –" Her voice caught in her throat and as she took several deeps breaths to regain control over herself, Neville thought she had never looked more beautiful. "And I love you, too," she whispered fiercely.

Neville couldn't breathe. Not after hearing those words from her and seeing the look in her eyes. It was a long few moments before he trusted his voice.

"So why didn't you –" he started in a whisper, but she didn't let him finish.

"Because I'm bad at this, too," she said, dropping his wrist and turning away.

Neville knew somehow, inherently, that this was the moment. She was waiting for him to say something, and it had to be the right something. But he had no idea what to say. He stood there, grappling with himself, going back and forth, until a voice in his head that sounded remarkably like a lucid Luna said, _Oh, for goodness sake, Neville! She loves you! And you love her! What more do you really need to know? _So he stopped worrying about what was going to come out of his mouth and just spoke.

"Do you maybe want to be bad at this together, then?" Inwardly, he winced, but it was too late now, so instead of wasting time kicking himself, he just watched desperately for her reaction.

She let out a watery half-laugh, shaking her head. His heart leapt. "I'd like to get _better _at this together," she told him, turning to face him. Slowly, he nodded.

"Me too," he said. She smiled at him then, and he smiled at her, and they just stood like that for a long few moments as relief washed over Neville, a relief so great he couldn't hardly put it into words.

"Neville, this is usually the part where the girl gets kissed," Hannah eventually pointed out, bringing Neville back to himself.

"Right," he agreed, and took her in his arms and did just that. And it was _nothing_ like kissing Luna, for which, he thought with the very last vestige of coherency that kissing Hannah left him, he thanked each and every lucky star, god, or denizen of Fate that might be listening.

To Neville, December 24th had always been Christmas Eve, a day of celebration. But from then on, in the years to come, when he thought of that day, he thought of a kiss and of the day when he first knew that Hannah Abbott loved him in return.

**February 16, 2003: A Ring**

Three days, scattered over two years, three days, three things, had brought him to this point. Of course, Neville had known since the first time he kissed her that he wanted to marry Hannah Abbott. He'd just had to decide how to make it happen. He'd thought he had the perfect plan. Then she'd gone and ruined it.

Which is how Neville found himself pacing outside the Leaky Cauldron at closing time two days after Valentine's Day, fiddling with a ring in his pocket that he had no idea what to do with. He knew he loved her and he knew she loved him and that because of that, the where and when didn't really matter all that much, but he wanted the moment to be perfect. For once in his life, he wanted to be charming and romantic.

He had no idea how long he'd been standing outside the pub when a tapping on the window made him look up. Hannah was watching him, a teasing smile on her face. She pointed to the door with raised eyebrows. Neville nodded.

A few minutes later, a voice rang out. "Neville, dear, I'm standing here holding the door open for you, and it's a little cold." Cursing himself, Neville stepped quickly inside. So much for charming and romantic.

"Sorry," he said, kissing her briefly.

"You all right?" she asked, looking up at him. He nodded. Then his hand found its way into his pocket again, returning to its by now old habit of fiddling with the gold ring there. "Neville!" Hannah said sharply. He forced his attention to her. She was looking at him, somewhat concerned.

"Sorry," he said again. "Zoned out. What were you saying?" She looked at him for another moment longer before she replied.

"I said, I didn't expect to see you here tonight. Are you sure you're all right?" Neville took a deep breath, trying to dispel his nerves.

"Yes," he said, smiling down at her. "Just distracted is all."

"Okay," she said slowly. "I'll be finished in a minute, if you want to sit and wait." And she turned and walked away. Thinking it might somehow be easier to ask her if her back was turned, Neville tried to fish the ring out of his pocket, saying, "Actually, well, I, uh . . ."

But it wouldn't come out, as if, by spending so much time there, the ring had become to attached to the inside of his pocket and now did not want to come out into the open. Mentally cursing once more, Neville fumbled with the fabric. Finally, his fingers grasped metal. Unfortunately, they were shaking so badly, they couldn't hold on to anything.

Neville's eyes followed it as it fell, time seeming to slow down as he watched, panicked. It hit the ground and began to roll, and he prayed, one, that Hannah hadn't seen, and that, two, he would be able to casually make his way across the room to retrieve it.

He had no such luck. "Neville, you dropped something," Hannah said, as if he wasn't aware. And then, to his horror, she dropped to her hands and knees in search of it.

"No, no, no!" he cried, dropping to a similar position and trying to beat her to the ring now resting under a nearby table.

"Neville, I've got it," she said, just as he said, "Hannah, please, don't!"

They met under the table just as her hand closed around her engagement ring, and Neville didn't know how the evening could get any worse. "Neville, I told you I had it," she said with a laugh. "You didn't need to – oh." Her sentence ended so abruptly because she had opened her hand and seen what lay in her palm. Neville sat heavily on the floor, one knee still propped in the air. Resting his elbow on top of it, he put his head in his hand, wishing that he could pull out his wand and freeze time, or that lightning would just come into the pub and finish him off.

Unfortunately, no such respite occurred. "This was planned out so much better in my head," he muttered.

"Neville?" came Hannah's soft voice. "Is . . . is this what I think it is?"

"Yes," he sighed, not looking at her. He was disgusted with himself. Absolutely disgusted. He was pathetic, the most pathetic excuse for a wizard and a man that had probably ever existed.

Then Hannah laid one hand on his knee. "Neville, this is the sweetest–"

"I didn't want it to be sweet!" he said passionately and irritated. He _hated_ that word. "I wanted it to be romantic and perfect and – " He sighed. "And when people ask how I proposed, I don't want to tell them that I did it by dropping the ring on the floor," he finished, agitated.

"Neville," Hannah said, and when he didn't look at her, she said his name again, more firmly. "Neville." Slowly, he turned his head. There wasn't a trace of laughter in her eyes, for which he was grateful. "Neville, why don't we try this again, then? You can take this back," she said, holding out her hand, "and come back in, and we'll pretend this never happened."

"No, I don't want to do it over," Neville grumbled. "I just – when I ask, I really don't want it to be on the floor under a table. Please?" So without another word, Hannah crawled out and stood up, waiting for Neville to do the same.

But Neville had made the mistake of wondering how the evening could get any worse, and so, when he tried to stand up, he discovered just how that was possible. Looking back, he supposed it could have happened to anyone. Plenty of people have tried to stand up from under a table, misjudged the distance and hit their heads. But in that moment, to him, that was the final straw.

Sitting on the ground, before Hannah could even ask if he was all right, he held out his hand. "Give me the ring," he demanded.

"Neville, what–"

"Just give me the ring," he said again, staring straight ahead, a muscle twitching in his jaw. Gently, Hannah laid the ring in his open palm, and he stood up and stormed out the door of the pub. Hannah took out her wand and silently unlocked the door.

A few moments later, Neville came back in, a smile forced on his face.

"Good evening, Neville," Hannah said.

"Good evening, Hannah," he responded evenly. "I wonder if I might have a moment?"

"I always have a moment for you," she told him. And she let him take her by the hand and lead her to a chair by the fire.

"Hannah, you told me not to make a big deal out of Valentine's Day this year, and I hope you notice that I didn't." She nodded, a little confused. "But I do have to tell you that your request threw me for a little bit of a loop, since I already had your gift."

Hannah gasped as she realized exactly why Neville had left the pub that day with _that _look on his face. "Oh, Merlin, Neville, I –"

But Neville held up his hand to stop her, an odd little smile on his face. "It's probably better this way" he whispered, and then he dropped to one knee in front of her. "Hannah, I have spent my entire life trying to live up to other people's expectations," he said, and she could already feel her eyes filling with tears as a thousand emotions welled up in her. "Almost from the moment I was born, so many things were expected of me from so many people, and there was no way I make everyone proud. After the final battle, I was suddenly a hero, and it seemed that I always had to be. Wherever I went, whoever I was with, there wasn't a single person in this world who didn't expect me to be a hero. And I thought it was just the price I had to pay, just something I would have to live with. And then I met you.

"And you were different. You never expected me to be heroic or to live up to any sort of legend, and so, I didn't have to. I didn't have to be a hero. But for the first time in my life, I wanted to be. Because you . . . you are, you have been, more than I could ever have asked for. You rescued me from _them_ and you understood the one thing in my life that was too complicated to explain and . . . one day, you gave me a half-eaten box of chocolates and made me fall in love with you." By this point, the tears were thick in Hannah's eyes, and she could hardly see the man in front of her. But, biting her lip, she smiled through them and waited for him to finish, her answer already on her lips.

"I'm not good at a lot of things," he said, and a brief pause followed, during which he was obviously trying not to mentally berate himself. "But I seem to be – no, I _know_ I'm better at them when you're with me." There was another brief pause, then, "All evidence to the contrary." Hannah let out a watery laugh. "But the things I'm not good at don't matter, as long as I have you. Hannah Abbott, I love you. And I have known I wanted to marry you since the first time I kissed you. So I just want you to know that you will make me the happiest person in the world if you agree to marry me, and to not tell anyone about what happened the first time I tried to do this."

"Yes," she whispered, grinning through her tears, and he closed his eyes and sighed in apparent relief. Then he held out a ring and moved to slide it onto her finger. But just before he did so, he stopped and looked up at her.

"Just to be clear," he said, "that 'yes' is to . . . which half of the question again?"

"The first," she said, the teasing twinkle reappearing.

"And the second?" he asked.

"Is going to depend on my general mood," she told him as he sighed with good nature and slid the ring onto her finger. She placed both hands on the side of his face. "And just for the record, Neville Longbottom, that was the most romantic thing I think I've ever heard anyone say."

"I just figured I had nothing to lose at this point, so I might as well just go for it," he admitted. She smiled.

"It really all started with that box of chocolates?" she asked him. He grinned.

"Yep," he said, and then Neville Longbottom kissed his fiancee for the first time.

To Neville, February 16 had never before held any real importance. It had always been just another day. But from that moment on, in one instant, it became the _most_ important day. In years to come, when he thought of that day, he would think of a ring, and of the day that Hannah Abbott said yes.


	24. Percy and Audrey

**The Thing ****That Matters**

**(Percy/Audrey)**

**By kmovie **

* * *

**1998**

**February 13**

"George, open up!" exclaimed Percy, knocking the door once again.

"Sorry, we're closed for the day. Read the sign!"

"George you know it's me. It's freezing out here – open the damn door!"

Percy stopped knocking at the door to rub his hands against his arms. He was beginning to feel the fool he knew he looked like for going there in the first place. After a couple of seconds the door finally opened and Percy flew in to avoid the cold evening as much as possible.

"It's about time," he managed between trembles.

"Oh sorry, is it cold out?" replied George, not restraining his laughter as he closed the door behind him. "What's up?"

"Nothing, just thought I'd stop to visit", said Percy, turning his head as he looked around the shop.

"Again? It's the fourth time this week." George took one of the stools from the top of the counter and placed it for Percy to sit on. As he accepted the seat he continued to gaze throughout the shop.

It was a well known fact that since he had rejoined the family, Percy had been trying to mend the bonds he had broken. He had moved to the Burrow again, where he felt the effects of the immense chasm he had helped to cause. His father remained slightly distanced from him at first, though fortunately with time and after evenings of endless conversations he felt they were finally reconciled. His mother, of course, acted like nothing had ever happened. She gave Percy the same royal treatment he had always received; but that was no good. With every hug she made him remember how much he had hurt her, of all people. He didn't feel comfortable with such treatment because he knew he didn't deserve it.

As for his brothers it was harder than ever, but he knew he would survive their judgment; though for some reason the judgment he cared most about was the one that came from George. He had become closer to George since he had re-joined the fold, something he never thought he would do, and although he didn't agree with him half of the time he respected him in a silent sort of way. George had accepted this closeness, though Percy was still his favourite subject for practical jokes. Percy thought this was maybe due to the fact that he and George shared that same sensation of feeling left out, of missing a whole piece. He tried to go once in a while to the shop in spite of George trying to constantly test his latest inventions on him – over a short space of time he had really learned to know his younger brother for the first time.

But the fact was that lately he had found a new source of 'interest' that didn't really involve George.

"So really, what has you coming so often?" his brother asked again. "I know it's too cold for a sibling visit."

"I told you, nothing."

Unfortunately with a sudden turn of his head 'nothing' appeared from behind the back door. The true cause of his recent interest towards Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was there, once again, gesturing politely with her head as a sign of hello towards him. He returned the sign, because that was as far as he was able to go: a simple gesture with his hand, or a nod with his head, maybe sometimes a smile if he rehearsed it properly and she didn't appear by surprise like she had now. Like always she was carelessly walking towards the shelves, unable to notice the uncomfortable effect she caused on him.

He had tried to avoid her, because the first time he saw her working at the shop she was laughing at every single joke she heard from Ron and kept asking George questions, showing an immature interest towards his products. She was just a silly girl, he thought. A girl who was interested in jokes and working in a shop that sold dangerous – and sometimes illegal – products could only be a silly girl. A silly pretty girl. Actually, she was a silly beautiful girl. He tried to avoid the sight of her hair, long and insanely black swaying along with her every move, dancing in perfect harmony with her waist. This was particularly annoying. What was even more annoying was that he noticed every time it happened.

He also tried to avoid her strange eyes, light blue when daylight hit them and silver grey when the moon shadowed upon them. It was just madding. But he gave up on avoiding her the time her arm brushed against his. He had suddenly been glued to the floor as the warm rush took over his head and had noticed that the silly girl had a strange influence on him.

It turned out that she wasn't really silly, and to his great disappointment she wasn't slightly impressed by him. He did try to talk to her once, but it was more painful than he had predicted. Talking about his new job at the ministry didn't seem to work – she didn't show any type of interest. Bragging about being a prefect or a head boy in the past hadn't been of much use either. So he gave up on talking, since she didn't seem to care.

He was clueless. If talking about himself didn't work then he had absolutely no idea of how to approach her. He didn't dare to ask for advice at anyone in the family: if any information slipped from Bill's mouth into George's one remaining ear he wouldn't hear the last of it. George would probably embarrass him to death in front of everyone, as he always did, or even worse in front of _her_ – although she probably wouldn't even care.

He didn't remember it being this hard ever before. He didn't remember it being this hard with Penelope. With her, of course, things had been slightly different. _He_ had been slightly different.

Yes, things had been simple with her; until he complicated them. Every year on Valentine's day he would buy her a box of chocolates and send them to her first thing in the morning (she liked chocolates) and every year she would send the owl back with a love note thanking him, and every year in a different way. But with time things changed; he changed; and then one time it was very different.

She had been there for him unconditionally. She had been for him when he made the decision to leave his house and shut his family away; she had hugged him and she had supported him. Later on she had talked to him, trying to make him see reason, but he didn't. With time she tried even harder. She said that his own obsession was parting him from the things that mattered. Like she knew – he didn't _think_ she knew – he didn't think that anybody knew what the things that mattered were like he did. With time he got tired of her insistence. With time she got tired of his indifference.

Their relationship became increasingly tense, until one year it imploded. She saw him returning the Christmas gift his mother had sent him unopened and without a note and she tried to stop him, telling him that he didn't understand how much that would hurt his mother, how much it would break her heart. He had grown so tired of her nagging by this point that he snapped and told her that she was just like _them_, his family. He let her know that he was tired of everyone – especially her.

Penelope left that Christmas day and Percy sent the gift unopened to his mother. After that she didn't come back; she didn't write or apologize for meddling in his business. At first he told himself that he was better off without her, but truth was that he missed her, so he tried to mend things two months later. He sent her the traditional box of chocolates on Valentine's Day with no note like every year, and he thought that would be enough. But after a couple of hours the owl returned with the same box, unopened and unaccompanied by her traditional note declaring her love for him.

It broke his heart, but not even then did he understand what she was trying to say. After that Percy focused even more on his own life, his own work and his own self. He healed, yes. With time he stopped missing her; with time he stopped loving her; with time he got over it but, also with time, he understood how wrong he had been. When that time finally came it was already too late for him and Penelope, but it wasn't too late for him and his family, and that day as he witnessed the minister falling apart and the magic community kneeling down to Voldemort's will he understood what Penelope had tried to say. He returned to his family, to everything he had left, finding that almost everything had changed.

After that things just wouldn't – or couldn't – be simple for him, not with his family or his work. He always felt slightly out of place. And now as he stared at a beautiful girl whose grey eyes pierced his, he found himself incapable of doing something about it. He could only stare, because he found it wasn't that simple anymore, he didn't feel secure enough to actually talk to her. And she was definitely not slightly interested: which was by far her most annoying quality.

"You're joking," said the voice of his brother, breaking into his thoughts and reminding him that he was once again staring at her. He hoped he hadn't been too indiscreet.

"Audrey? You fancy Audrey?" he said, far too loudly for Percy's liking, bringing his hopes crashing to the floor. George was now glancing at the girl, who was concentrating on price labelling.

"What? No! What're you talking about?" Denial was the quickest impulse, although with George it was pretty pointless.

"Please Percy, with your constant staring you might as well be all over her."

"Shut up, I haven't been staring!" Again, pointless.

"She'll never go for you", said George, keeping his voice down now and attempting to hold in his laughter.

"I don't care – what? Why not?" He realized as soon as he reacted that he was being far too obvious, and he felt an uncomfortable warm sensation beginning to spread up from his neck to his face.

"Because… you know..."

"No, I don't know."

"She's normal."

"Thanks..." Percy rolled his eyes at his brother and then found them wandering in her direction again.

"If you like her just-"

"I don't like her."

"Alright, if you _love_ her just—"

"Shut up!" he snapped, starting to get seriously annoyed.

George rolled his eyes, looking as if he was having a hard job containing his laughter and attempting to appear serious.

"Listen, she doesn't bite. Just act cool around her – if that is in any way possible for you – and stay away from your old cauldron stories, because she does have a sense of humour."

"Just- Oh, never mind..." Percy felt frustrated knowing that George was right but that he wouldn't ever get the courage to talk to her properly, not after his first embarrassing experience.

"Listen, as much as I love to see you drool over my employee, I have to close now".

"Going home? I'll wait for you."

"Um, no. Go on without me I have… things to do", said George, seemingly suspiciously evasive.

"What?" Percy said, a smile playing at his lips as the situation began to reverse itself. "Like a date?"

"Um, no, not really…" This time it was George showing embarrassment.

"Well, what is it? Who are you meeting?"

"Nobody. I mean… just… it's nothing. We just… it's just an old friend." George was rambling for probably the first time in his life, and Percy couldn't help feeling curious.

"Do I know this old friend of yours?"

"Who are you? Mum? Quit nagging me! Just help me close for the day, okay?"

Percy raised both of his hands as a sign of resignation and did as his brother told him. Later that evening Percy walked the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. He thought back and could see himself trapped in a sea of people carrying flowers, gifts, excessively big valentine singing cards and all types of sweet boxes. The scene was somehow sickening: nothing about that day brought him good memories. Everything around him kept reminding him of his mistakes, and how much he had hurt the ones he cared about. Thinking about it immediately gave him a headache.

He was walking some more, trying to stomach the love and happiness in the environment, when a highly decorated sweet shop caught his attention. In front of him was displayed an enormous box of chocolates, perfectly wrapped. He couldn't help thinking of Audrey and wondered if she was the type of girl who fancied Valentine sweets. Maybe she would consider it improper. Maybe she already had a boyfriend and _he_ would consider it improper. Maybe she would just laugh at him for being so cliché.

He knew he wouldn't dare to send them to her, and he also knew that it wasn't her they were supposed to be for. He decided to follow his sudden impulse: he entered the store and purchased the huge box of chocolates, before he apparated home to await another painful Valentine's Day.

**February 14**

In the morning not much had changed. He woke up early to send the gift. The owl looked confused at the instructions but obeyed immediately. Along with the box he sent – for the first time in his life – a note that simply said:

'_Happy Valentine's Day. I love you_.

_Percy__'_

He went down and sat on the kitchen table feeling like a fool, for he looked like the only human in the house that didn't have some sort of Valentine day plans. Even George, who supposedly didn't have a girlfriend, was eager to get out of the house. The headache from the previous day was already returning. However it wasn't long before his mother came running down the stairs straight towards him holding the box of chocolates he had sent to his own house a couple of minutes ago. She didn't hesitate as she hugged him, strong, firm and sensible like always. But for the first time in a long time he felt entirely justified receiving such a hug.

"I really do mum," he said in her ear.

With tears in her eyes his mother whispered softly:

"I love you too."

"Show off," he heard George say, along with a very familiar noise of annoyance from Ron. But it was okay. He was used to that, and for the first time in months he felt comfortable with it. He had to admit, it was bloody great.

**February 17**

He let a couple of days go by before his next 'spontaneous' visit to the shop, even thought he really felt like building a tent in front of it. When the day finally arrived he entered the store and found Audrey at the counter, with no George or Ron anywhere to be seen. It was the perfect scenario… for a normal person.

"Hey," he managed, after a pause.

"Hi," she said back, with a familiar dashing smile directed straight at him. "George went out".

"Oh? Really?" He approached the counter slowly, trying to figure out what to do next. This wasn't part of his plan, having no brother to back him up. "Did he say where…"

"No, he had some business to attend or something like that. But Ron is supposed to be here any minute."

"Alright then, I'll wait for him."

She smiled again and he tried to focus on the complicated task of sitting on the stool next to the counter without missing it and falling to the floor. After that was accomplished he felt an uncomfortable silence taking over them. He wasn't sure, but it seemed to him that she was smiling more than usual and he couldn't possibly say anything 'interesting' if she kept smiling at him like that.

"So..." he started, feeling ridiculous, "how was your Valentine's Day?" Stupid question. He didn't need to know if she had had a blast with some other bloke.

"Oh, just another regular day. Came to work, went back home. Not much really." The absence of a 'special someone' in her answer brought Percy to a new level of hope he hadn't experienced.

"Oh, no boyfriend then?"

"No. But either way, I'm not fond of that particular holiday. Everywhere is full, everything is more expensive than usual and people just pretend to be happy because they're supposed to be."

"Yes, it's pathetic." He winced, thinking that the bitterness in his voice was far too obvious but she laughed. It was the first time he had made her laugh, and that was worth something even if he didn't know what was so funny.

"Well, you must have had your share of bad valentines, I assume. But I wouldn't go that far. The problem is that people forgot the entire original concept of the day."

"You think?" he asked, with a slight sign of sarcasm in his words.

"Sure… It's supposed to be about love, in its full meaning, not just some excuse to have a date. It's not just about flowers and gifts – those aren't the things that really matter."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" She widened her smile in response to that particular question.

"Well, you should know. I heard you sent your mum a box of chocolates for Valentine's Day." Percy groaned inwardly. That was brilliant. George had undertaken the hideously easy task of humiliating him. He could just hex himself to death now and it would be less painful.

"Um, yeah… I mean, whatever. I just-"

"That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard of, you know. Not every man does that for his mother. At least, not the men I've known." Suddenly, without hesitating she leaned over the counter and did the most unforgivable thing – she branded his left cheek with her lips. His jaw fell open and although it was just a sweet gesture from her, it was almost unbearable for him. She leaned back wearing the same smile, and he focused on not looking like an idiot.

"Um- well, you know. She's my mother. She deserves it and I've always-"

"Yeah, well, don't brag," she interrupted, raising her eyebrow along with her smile.

"I wasn't going to brag".

"No, of course you weren't," she laughed, but he could recognize sarcasm somewhere in her voice.

He knew that if he stayed there one more minute he would absolutely ruin the moment. It would be wise and proper to run for his life.

"Um, well, I have to go now – there's this… thing I haven't done and I should probably do it."

"Sure. I'll tell Ron you came by."

"What? Oh! Yeah, of course. Thanks."

"You can come back… whenever you want, you know," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

"I will." He smiled, his first unrehearsed smile in her presence, and for a second he felt secure again, until he turned around and missed the step of the front door. He didn't dare to look back after that but he _would_ dare to come back… When Ron and George weren't there, of course – he didn't think he needed back up anymore.

Truth was that he left with more than victory dancing in his head and an aching left cheek: he understood what Audrey had meant, and it was probably the exact thing Penelope had tried to say once. It wasn't about the present itself, but the effect it had. That was surely what mattered, and that was worth all the boxes of chocolates out there, or even more.

_A/N: Thanks to Hidden for being my Beta! _


	25. Harry and Draco

**The Only Thing I Share is Chocolate**

**(Harry/Draco)  
**

**By kasiatania **

* * *

- - - - -

Potter-

I'm bored. Vince and Greg are eyeing Millicent, Millicent's eyeing Pansy's huge slice of cake, Pansy's eyeing me, and I can only look absolutely horrified at the First Years who are the only ones getting any action at this damn table.

- - - - -

Draco, tell Parkinson to eat her cake before Bulstrode steals it. And are you telling me that Crabbe and Goyle's love for Parkinson is greater than their love for food? It's decided. The apocalypse is coming.

If you still want your entertainment, keep watching those Firsties in their unsubtle groping. You'd probably get off on it. You can tell your admirers about it and earn yourself some pretty cash; you probably got more Valentines than me this year. It escapes me why though, since you still look as pointy as ever.

I'm being blinded by the light reflecting off this stupid confetti. Remind me again why it's falling and congealing in my pumpkin juice?

- - - - -

Potter, you're an infernal being. Don't you know you're the only one in this school with a snowy owl? My housemates have snapped out of their reverie when they found your bloody owl swooping down with the letter. Borrow Weasley's if you must.

I think it's impossible for anyone, including that boy she's currently attached to, to get off looking at Vince's sister. I have enough money to buy myself some proper clothes. Haven't you heard that rags and drags are out this season? I always thought that my lack of curves was one of the primary reasons why you're attracted to me. Call me hot now and you might be forgiven.

The red and pink sparkles are the material representation of the clichéd love and adoration that young heterosexual couples suddenly feel on Valentine's Day. Surely you haven't missed this fact for the past seven years?

- - - - -

You should be thanking me that Parkinson isn't fluttering her eyelashes at you anymore. You seriously didn't tell her you were gay yet? I want to be there when you do; I can bring some popcorn and enjoy the show.

And haven't you heard that it's unnatural to spend this much time on your appearance? Though you may lack the curves, thank Merlin, you probably spend more time on your hair and face and clothes than a normal girl. But you look alright afterwards.

Sod it, you look bloody gorgeous and you know it. But you're still pointy.

Are you saying that only straight people can love?

- - - - -

Of course I didn't tell her I'm gay, you idiot. She'd start crying and going on about how I led her on and how our love was meant to be… And she's also a blabbermouth and I don't want this going around all of Slytherin House. Wouldn't do much good for my reputation. And is popcorn another one of your horrible Muggle habits?

See Potter? If that's the reaction I get from others, then it's all worth it. Except for the pointy comment; you take that back! My features are refined.

You are seriously turning mental. Look at the straight Granger-Weasley relationship. Hand holding, hugs, study dates, and declarations of love and devotion. They'll probably get married one day and have many bushy red-heads. Spare me.

We don't hold hands, hug only as some odd form of foreplay, and declare nothing, except maybe the time of our next meeting. We snog. And have sex. Good sex.

- - - - -

What's your reputation now then? And popcorn is a delicious snack which is perfect to munch on when viewing entertainment, such as you coming out to your friends.

Fine, I'm taking it back, but only because I know I'll regret it otherwise.

Their relationship isn't as horrible as you make it out to be. They like it and feel comfortable with each other. It's about spending quality time together and sharing secrets and just being with someone you love. What's so bad about that?

You don't think we're anything more than that? And we don't hug during foreplay… it's more of a kind of afterplay. What would Slytherin House say if they knew the great Draco Malfoy liked to cuddle?

- - - - -

My reputation is one of a sexy and charming Slytherin. Since when is someone coming out as gay a bloody show with tickets? If you think it's that entertaining, why don't you do it yourself? I would gladly watch. And maybe I'll even eat some of this Muggle food you're so fond of.

You're odd. If knowing people's secrets is what makes your life worthwhile these days, I guess I can tell you a secret on this forsaken holiday bent on making people happy.

Your horribly messy and unruly hair has grown on me, and I actually find it quite endearing. Don't let it go to your head.

If you ever mention the cuddling to anyone, I will cut off your bollocks and feed them to the Giant Squid.

- - - - -

Charming? The only ones who think that are probably your little admirers, who don't see past your face and trousers, which by the way, are way too tight to be worn in public. And I get the point. No show, no popcorn.

So all these times when you were teasing me about it, you actually liked it? I seriously can't believe it. Draco Malfoy secretly lusts after my hair. I'm grinning like a fool and Ron's asking who's put that smile on my face. I should tell him it's you just to see his reaction.

You're quite creative with your methods of torture. Just goes to show how charming you truly are.

- - - - -

Potter, I told you not to let it go to your head.

I'm still bored. My room in 10 minutes?

- - - - -

I'll be there.

- - - - -

Harry finished writing his letter, blew off the stray confetti and attached it securely to one of the school's barn owls. It flew off before he even had a chance to tell the owl the recipient of the letter, and it quickly became lost in the sea of screeching owls.

He could just barely make out Draco sitting at the Slytherin table, turned sideways and apparently deep in conversation with Zabini. He looked up at the owl's arrival, unfolded the letter, read it, and without making any signs of acknowledgement, slipped it into his robe pocket. He smiled at Zabini and said something Harry couldn't hear before walking out of the Great Hall.

Although everyone would be too busy to notice if Harry left at the same time, he decided to wait five minutes before making his subtle exit. Growing impatient after only four, he stood up, leaving his numerous Valentines piled around his uneaten food.

"My head's spinning and I feel ill," he announced to his friends. Ron nodded and continued chewing, but Hermione looked up at him worryingly.

"It's not You-Know-Who, is it Harry?" she said, her voice immediately sharp. She wrenched her hand free of Ron's, blushed, and stood up too. "You need to tell Dumbledore! He said to come to him whenever your head is—"

"It's not Voldemort, Hermione," Harry sighed. "It's just all the noise; it's just getting to me, that's all. Now, sit back down and eat your cake."

Hermione watched him suspiciously for a moment, making sure he wouldn't faint right there on the spot before taking her seat again. "But if it gets worse," she warned, "be sure to go to Madam Pomfrey."

Harry rolled his eyes but called out an affirmative to satisfy her. She seemed pleased with his response and grabbed Ron's hand again. Ron promptly proceeded to drop the buttered toast on his lap.

----------

Harry never truly appreciated the dungeons so much as that day. He inhaled the air, slightly musty, but still better than the hot and sticky perfume-infested room that he just left. The pressure of the air surrounding him from all sides decreased with every step he took until his headache all but cleared. He took his carefully folded Invisibility Cloak out from his bag and wrapped it around him. Harry shivered suddenly; he should be used to the sudden drop in temperature, but it still struck him as an uncomfortable surprise every time he went down into the dungeons. He pulled the cloak closer to his body, but the thin material didn't provide any warmth.

He stopped by a familiar stretch of wall and whispered, "Snakes for the Cup." Harry suppressed a sigh at the typical Slytherin password, but luckily the concealed door swung open to reveal the practically empty common room. A boy one year below Harry, whose name he didn't know, was sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. Harry just walked past him, taking great care to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible. He was poised to knock on the door but decided to walk right in; he was, after all, expected.

Just as he was about to grasp the handle, the door swung open. Draco was lounging on his bed, his wand still pointed at the open door. "Well come on," he said impatiently. "You're late."

Harry glanced down at his watch; he was two minutes early. Not wanting another argument with Draco, he just walked across the room, trying not to step on the many robes and books scattered all over the floor, until he was right in front of him. Draco didn't move from his stretched out position except to look up at Harry, and shut the door with a movement of his wand. "You came."

"I always do," Harry said simply. "You're much more entertaining than opening those damn Valentines. Do you know that I got over twenty identical ones, all with that rhyme from our second year?"

"His eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad," Draco sang, horribly off-key in an attempt to sound like a winged dwarf. "I disagree though," he said, propping himself up on his elbow and staring intently into Harry's eyes. "I think they resemble avocadoes."

"Avocadoes?" Harry repeated. "That has to be the first time I've heard that one."

"Well if you don't like originality," Draco trailed off and moved into a sitting position. "I guess I could describe your eyes as iridescent emeralds, glistening as the sunlight is reflected off their smooth facets, speckled with flecks of—"

"Alright," Harry interrupted, laughing. "I think I prefer the avocadoes."

Harry made as if to move, but Draco reached for his hands and laced their fingers together. Slowly, he brought both of their arms back, leading Harry closer towards him. He only stopped once Harry had no choice but to straddle his legs.

They stayed in that position: Harry breathing warm air onto Draco's cheek and Draco leaning in to Harry's neck. "We're holding hands," Harry whispered teasingly, stroking the back of Draco's hand with his thumb.

Draco immediately wrenched his hands free, glared, and shifted his hips in an attempt to dislodge him. Harry merely laughed and wrapped his arms around Draco's neck for balance. "And now we're hugging," he murmured, his breath tickling Draco's ear.

"Get off, Potter," Draco said sharply. When Harry didn't budge, Draco sighed and reached behind him for a rectangular box wrapped in red, glittery paper, 'Happy Valentine's Day' scrawled on it in shimmering letters. He offered it to Harry, who took it with a smile on his face. Draco supported him, letting Harry have full use of his hands to unwrap the box.

"You got me a present," Harry said ecstatically.

"Of course I didn't," Draco replied, stamping out Harry's momentary happy. "Pansy got it for me today, and I thought it'd be a waste to eat all by myself. I wouldn't want to ruin my figure, since I know you like me gorgeous like this."

"I do," Harry hummed, attempting to keep the smile on his face. At least with the Dursleys, he knew not to expect a present; they didn't play games, pretending to give him a gift and dangling it in front of his face, before telling him it's something completely different. He tore off the rest off the rest of the wrapping paper, opened the box, and popped the first piece of chocolate in his mouth.

"Good?" Draco asked, eyeing Harry as he closed his eyes and moaned. He merely nodded and ate yet another piece. "Just wanted to make sure they weren't poisoned."

Harry's eyes flew opened, glaring at him accusingly, but Draco just shrugged. "You remember how it was last year with Weasley? I didn't want to find myself suddenly enamoured with Pansy."

"So I'm your test subject?" Harry retorted. "So you share some chocolate with me, which was a present for you from someone else, just to make sure there wasn't something in it?"

Draco nodded slowly. "But you're seriously making it out to be worse than it actually is.

"What if they had some kind of deadly poison from Voldemort?"

"Why would the Dark Lord want me dead?" Draco said irritably. "And stop looking at me like that."

"Well, don't you care if I suddenly fall head-over-heels with Parkinson then?"

"Obviously," Draco replied, then grinned lasciviously. "The only thing I want to share right now is this chocolate, and you certainly aren't chocolate."

Harry sighed, but knew that was the closest to an apology he would get. "So, do you want some of this chocolate or not?" He ate a piece himself, and offered another to Draco.

Draco had other plans; he moved his hands up until they were around Harry's neck and drew their two bodies together. He stopped when their mouths were just barely touching, ghosting over each other. "I knew you liked sharing."

It was enough for Harry, who dropped the chocolate still in his hand onto the bed so that his now free hand could be brought to Draco's face. He brushed the blond fringe out of his eyes, licking his lips as he did so, and Draco gave in.

He pushed his body forward and crushed his lips to Harry's. Harry's mouth was slightly parted and Draco used this to his advantage. There was no hesitation; he deepened the kiss, his tongue caressing Harry's, his fingers entwined in his hair and urging him closer. Letting his eyes drift closed, he slowly explored Harry's mouth, tasting the exquisite flavours of chocolate and Harry himself.

Much too soon for Harry's liking, Draco pulled back.

His face was slightly flushed, his lips were swollen, his pupils dilated, but Draco made no other signs acknowledging what just happened. "I like it," he said, reaching for the fallen sweet on the bed.

"So happy Valentine's Day, by the way," Harry said, his arms still loosely wrapped around Draco's waist.

Draco snorted. "I told you what I think of that, didn't I?" His expression also turned to one of bliss as he tasted the sweet goodness. "Pansy sure knows how to pick out good chocolate."

"Do you honestly think that? Do you seriously think that only straight people can love?" Harry asked, staring intently at him, willing him to say something different than his usual predictable response.

"How can gays love?" Draco asked rhetorically, licking the chocolate off his fingers. "We can't do all the normal things. It's physical, isn't it?"

"If I were a horrible kisser, would you just move on to someone else?"

Draco contemplated this. "No," he said slowly, and Harry brightened. "There aren't that many gay guys at Hogwarts, and if you were that much of a hopeless case, I could probably teach you." He smirked up at Harry. "But luckily you're not, so we don't have to worry about that."

"So what we have is purely physical?"

"Potter," Draco said, "we don't have anything between us. We're not in a relationship."

"I know," Harry lied, hurt to hear it but expecting nothing else. "But don't you sometimes just want to be around me because you like me?"

"You mean like your brilliant wit?" Draco asked. Harry nodded. "Maybe. I guess you're starting to grow on me."

Harry smiled brilliantly at him; it was the first admission Draco had ever made that they were anything more than horrible enemies.

"I think this love nonsense Granger and Weasley are spewing is really getting to you," Draco said, snorting. "Do you want to lie down? You might just remember that you kept me up most of the night."

Harry got off him and smirked. "You mean you want to cuddle?"

"Shut up," Draco said, flushing slightly, but he made no comment to prove otherwise.

"Are you sure Crabbe and Goyle won't just barge in here at any time?"

Draco threw a pillow at his head. "Way to ruin the mood."

"There was a mood?"

"Stop asking bloody questions! And don't smile at me like that—it's highly disturbing. "

"Won't anyone be bothered by us sleeping through the middle of the afternoon?"

"They'll be busy with their latest love conquests. Now just close the damn curtains."

Once the curtains were firmly closed, Harry lay down under the covers next to Draco. His cold feet sought out Draco, who immediately recoiled with a hiss.

"Your feet stay on your side," Draco said as Harry snickered.

"If you want me to hold you, you're damn well going to put up with my feet." Draco sighed, but this time allowed Harry to rub his feet against his. Harry smiled, satisfied, and encircled Draco's waist with one hand. With the other, he reached up to stroke his hair. It was soft beneath his fingers, as always.

"Draco?" he whispered into his ear. "Happy Valentine's Day." Draco merely grunted.

"Draco?" he said again, poking him sharply in the side.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Potter," Draco finally said. "Now hold me, you sodding fool."

He sighed contentedly as Harry moved closer against him. Draco relaxed, his breathing becoming deeper and more rhythmic as sleep took over him.

Harry pressed a soft, lingering kiss to Draco's cheek before he too drifted off to sleep.


	26. Andromeda and Ted

**Love Is**

**(Andromeda/Ted)**

**By SharkiesGirl **

* * *

_"I was burnt off the family tree, Ted, burnt off! Rejected, disowned! I am filth to them now, Ted, filth! Sure, they weren't ever a good family to me, but once, my mother held me. Once, my father smiled at me. Once, my sisters laughed with me, and shared their secrets with me. Once, my family loved me, Ted."_

_Ted sighed as he watched a tear escape his wife's soft, brown eyes, "Darling_, I_ love you. You chose it to be this way when you married me."_

_Andromeda looked up at her husband, "Ted, I'm sorry. I do love you. It's just so hard."_

_"I know darling, I know."_

---

Ted and Andromeda walked hand-in-hand towards the upcoming park that was located near their small house. Things had changed a lot since they were first married. Ted's stomach had gotten larger, Andromeda no longer broke down, and now they had a playful, little girl whom brightened up their lives. But, things were changing in the world too. Voldemort was gathering more followers and it was becoming more and more dangerous each day to be outside.

"Mummy! Daddy! Come quick! There is a free swing over here," called out their 6-year-old daughter, Nymphadora.

Ted looked at his wife and motioned for her to go, "I'll be there in a minute, I just have to do something first."

Andromeda looked curiously at her husband then, ran along to catch up with Nymphadora. Ted smiled as he watched his two girls run to the swings before turning into a nearby shop.

---

"Sir, would you like a red rose to go with the box of chocolates?"

Ted looked longingly at the rose and then back to his nearly empty wallet. He was in a chocolate shop buying a small gift for his wife.

"I-no, that'll be all." He payed the proper amount of muggle money before leaving with a beautifully-wrapped box, topped with a bow, and the complimentary card that came with it.

---

"Mummy? Where's Daddy?" Nymphadora asked, looking around the park.

Andromeda looked around before pulling her daughter onto her lap, protecting her from the harsh wind. "He just went to do something, but he'll come back soon, Dora." She started swinging slowly as she reassured her daughter, and herself.

But, why did she doubt Ted? She loved him. Of course he would be back soon, he had said so himself. She trusted him. Ted wouldn't just run off, he was the world to her. She gave up so much for him.

"He'll come back soon." Andromeda repeated.

---

Ted quickly walked towards the park, checking his watch, hoping he wasn't gone for too long. As he got closer he saw them – his two girls on one swing. The small bit of remaining sunlight made their hair shimmer- Andromeda's long, light brown and Nymphadora's vibrant, shoulder-length pink. A smile rose on Ted's face as he continued walking. His girls were everything to him. Everything.

---

Andromeda smiled as she saw Ted. She was still slowly swinging with her daughter on her lap. Ted kneeled down, to be in eye-view with Andromeda. They gazed into each others eyes, love reflecting on both pairs.

"Dromeda, happy Valentines Day," Ted whispered into her ear as he handed Andromeda a gift. Andromeda opened the card and read it out loud, in a shaky, tearful voice,

"_To my beautiful Andromeda,_

_Love isn't a box of chocolates, darling, but I wanted to get you something to go with what I give you every day._

_Love is holding you when you break-down after walking past your sister at Diagon Alley._

_Love is feeling my heart tap-dance as the warmth of your hand spreads over mine._

_Love is watching our little girl and knowing that she is perfect as she is a part of both of us._

_Love is wanting to know more about you when there is nothing else to know._

_Love is needing you by my side._

_Love is being so happy because I know you love me back._

_Love is never wanting a day to end, yet it is looking forward to tomorrow._

_Love is everything to me when it comes from you._

_Happy Valentines Day, sweetheart. I love you._

_-Ted."_

After she finished reading, she opened the box of chocolates, which she shared with her daughter and her husband. She thanked Ted, before he walked over to a nearby patch of daisies and pulled them out of the ground. Looking around first, he transfigured them into a bunch of roses, then, handed them to his wife.

"For my sweetheart," he said quietly.

But, Andromeda shook her head, "No, Ted. I liked them the other way."

Ted was stunned, but turned them back into daisies, then, once again, tried to hand them to Andromeda. Smiling, she accepted them and said, "Love isn't expecting to receive the most beautiful things, it is hanging onto whatever is given." Ted smiled back, and together they walked home, their little girl between them.

---

"But before we hear from Royal and Romulus," Lee went on, 'let's take a moment to report those deaths that the Wizarding Wireless Network News and the Daily Prophet don't think important enough to mention. It is with great regret that we inform our listeners of the murders of Ted Tonks and Dirk Cresswell."

Andromeda listened intently to the radio program, her heart aching, memories arising. She was sobbing softly, trying to control herself as she didn't have Ted to hold her anymore.

Her daughter, who was pregnant, sat next to her on the couch, tears streaming down her face, staining her cheeks, "Mum, Dad isn't buying chocolates this time, is he?"

Andromeda looked at her daughter and pulled her close, the only part of Ted she had left, "No, Dora," her voice was rough and weak, so unlike her usual.

Nymphadora got up slowly before walking outside into the cold wind, wanting to feel something else, other than the growing pain.

Andromeda sat in silence until she whispered something in the same croaky voice as she had before, "Ted, love is never wanting to forget yesterday."


	27. Sirius and Lily

**All the Things I Say**

**(Sirius/Lily)  
By Seer of Spots **

* * *

_I'm not sayin' that just the thought of  
You makes my walk a skip,  
And I'm not sayin' that my heartbeat's  
Any more than just a radar blip.  
Oh well I'm not sayin' that I'm not affected  
By your feminine such'n'such,  
I'm sayin' that I like you...  
I like you very much_

_-I Like You Very Much_, Rockapella.

Lily shoulders her bag, stumbling a little on the uneven floor. She glares at her shoes, eying their scuffed and battered tips with annoyance. _What did you do that for?_ she seems to be asking them. Her toes twitch in answer. _Sorry_, they say.

"And I should hope so," she says.

She blushes and looks around, hoping no one heard or saw her.

I like watching at Lily. She's very nice to look at (which I have told her on occasion, to be answered, generally, with a hex or a derogatory retort – wh-_psh!_ - straight off the mark).

She sees me seeing her.

She wilts.

I laugh.

"Hallo, Lily, and Lily's shoes, of course, who, no doubt, are very apologetic – how dare they trip on these Hogwarts floors?"

The problem with Lily, I realised a while ago, is that she is far too similar to James. Both are very stubborn, both are very amusing and unerringly sharp, and both are very, very odd.

Lily rolls her eyes, but I can tell she's still embarrassed. "Don't worry," I say, twitching my toes. "Everyone talks to their feet now and then. For us boys, it's always, _No, you shan't grow any more – there's only so many times a shoe can be expanded, you silly things_. However," I add knocking my toe against the heel of my opposite foot, "they _are_ boy-feet, and boys aren't well known for their listening skills."

No longer embarrassed, Lily plays along. "Well, no wonder," she scolds, hands on hips, books on a window sill. "Look at what you're making the poor things do. Stop scuffing the poor dears – feet never respond well to torture, male or female." She looks up at me – so little – and straight in my eye. "What your shoes need is a firm hand. Watch: _Shoes, be kind to Sirius, and do not engage in games with his head – neither of you need swell further. If you aren't kind, I shall know, and I shall charm all your socks to Slytherin colours, and you shall have to wear them_."

She adds a glare for good measure, and my toes curl under her scrutiny.

I raise my eyebrows, looking her in the eye. "Impressive."

"Well," she blushes. She looks at her feet. "I'm, erm, firm with feet, I suppose?"

Her eyebrows are skewed and her hands are twisting the cuffs of her robe sleeves around her thumbs. Here is where I can differentiate her from James, and here is where I can look at her and think to myself _You're alright, Miss Evans, you're alright. I could live with you._ And it's about that moment where I think, _JamesJamesJames_ and school myself to act as though the idea of commitment has never crossed my mind.

… But her insecurity is so very endearing.

I swoop down and pick up her books.

"Where to, Miss Evans' Feet?" I ask, directing the question at her patchily polished shoes.

"Anywhere you like, Mr Black," her feet squeak back, giggling.

With my spare hand, I grab hers, and smiling at her – from the gold ribbon threaded through her loose red plait, down over the prefect-badged front of her robes (I'm not ashamed to say my eyes lingered there a little longer than strictly appropriate), over her chewed fingernails and wrinkled sleeve-cuffs, around her too-short robe-hem and thusly revealed stripy socks.

"Ready, Sirius?" her voice, stuck halfway between the squeaky-sock-voice and her own, cuts through my observations.

"Off course, Miss Feet," I say, and off we go, waltzing down the hall like two waltzing things in a waltzing place.

Her face is bright red, and she won't meet my eye, but when I cut a glance to the hands swinging between us, I have to focus hard not to let on that I have seen her "observing" me the same way I was her. She's looking at me in precisely the same manner, the '_I could have that, I could want that_' sort of manner. The '_I'm not desperate, but if I was …_' sort of manner. And the thought explodes into my mind: _I'm not desperate, but I sure wouldn't mind if I was …_

We are a few corridors and a short-cut away from the kitchens, and I have an idea, brought on my the thought of food and this new admiration I have of Lily Evans.

"Close your eyes," I tell her, and, with a sly look to me (a look I am sure to gladly remember for quite some time), she complies, a secret grin playing with the right corner of her lips.

A jerk of my wand and a muttered incantation later, and I kneel on the floor, offering her my gift. "For you, my High-heeled-ness," I tell her laces with a flourish, flipping the lid off the box of chocolates.

The corner of the box-lid catches me on the arm and hurts a little, but Lily's face is so eager and pleased I take no notice.

"Oh, wow, Sirius," she says, hand drifting over the elaborate truffles nestled in the gold tissue paper lining the deep heart-shaped box. "Wow, wow, wow," she whispers. She selects one, and pops it in her mouth.

Watching her face is bliss.

A minute passes and I stand, my knees crackling as I straighten, grabbing a chocolate for myself and swallowing it whole.

She swallows, but sucks her tongue for a moment or two more (I'm not ashamed to admit how much I like this, either).

"You _have_ to teach me that spell," she gushes, picking out another and nibbling on it, leaning close to my face (_An orange truffle? I like orange very much_) and looking up through her lashes.

I grin, quite enjoying the closeness of Fascinating Little Evans. "It's simple transfiguration – sharp jab and then you say –"

'Transfiguration?" Lily's gaze slips away, distracted as she pops the rest of her orange chocolate into her mouth. Then her eyes snap to mine, astonished yet amused – "Sirius! Where are my books?" she chokes out, coughing around an oesophagus full of cocoa and sugar and flavoured syrup.

I smile wider still, twirling my wand innocently in my fingers.

"How on earth should I know?" I ask. "They're your books, Lily; if you can't look after them, perhaps you don't deserve to have them. A wise person once said something about a firm hand … ?"

She is irritated, but smothering a grin as she –_ Finite Incantatem_ – spells the chocolate box back into her books.

There is a bite out of the cover of her Potions text and her notebook is missing a crescent-shaped wad of pages.

She glares at me and I grin back, and soon she is giggling and pretending she isn't.

_I like a girl with a sense of humour._

She doesn't let me win, however, and snatches the books out of my grasp. Soon, she is marching importantly ahead. "Come, Shoes!" she cries. "Away from this common fool – this filthy trickster – and hope he rots where he stands!"

She swings around to throw a glare over her shoulder, but I am already there. She is thrown off balance and shrieks. Her hands fly up in surprise; her books (bites missing and all) fly into the air. Ducking out of range, she burrows into my chest (and there is no shame at all – I'm definitely enjoying this).

The notebook and _Advanced Potions_ seem to dive out of the sky and hurtle towards me, their pages flapping like thousands of tiny scolding fingers. I shout and cover my head with my arms as the books peck at me and – _whap!_ – hit me over my head, very much the firmest of little hands.

Lily's grin-smeared chin is stuck, lips pursed against a triumphant laugh, determinedly out.

"A firm hand, Sirius," she reminds me, as if I need to be told, her green eyes shining.

It is in that moment I feel it come over me, and she, too, notices. It is a predatory feeling, the possessive _want_ I occasionally experience when battling it out with Moony at the full moon.

There is no longer the question of _Oh! How like James she is!_ or _My, what a silly little thing!_ or even _What a crafty little witch!_, there is only the _I LIKE YOU VERY MUCH!_ a thrumming rhythm in my brain.

With a swish of my wand, a wide, arcing sweep, the books transform again, one thousand kisses crashing down on Lily like a tidal wave.

She is frozen, startled, and her feet are no longer under her command. Tripping forwards, she stumbles, amidst the loving onslaught, into my grasp.

"A firm hand?" I say, as I slide my left underneath her plait, feeling the coarse gold ribbon and her curly red hair against my fingers. In an action mirroring mine, she has her hand on the back of my neck as she nods.

She leans up towards me, and I lean down, and we kiss.

It isn't a wild groping thing, or so light we only imagined it was there. But it is still very much a kiss.

She is close to me, one hand on my shoulder, one in my hair; I am close to her, one hand around her waist and the other flicking her plait lazily behind her.

And I am far from ashamed to admit that I like this. I like this very, very much.


	28. Sirius and Marlene

**Melodrama**

**(Sirius/Marlene)**

**By BonniDolle **

* * *

"Darling, what would you say if I told you, right here, right now, that I love you, and I need you, and I want to take you out to dinner? Now. And I got you some chocolates…" 

The girl lay in the bed before him stared blankly up at his hopeful face, quite possibly wondering if the man was off his rocker; he gazed back, a rather luridly coloured box of chocolates clutched loosely in one hand. Having abandoned all hope of extracting help from this seemingly raving madman, her eyes swept the room nervously, flickering bemusedly between the stark white sheets and sickly yellow walls as she attempted to assess her situation.

Her situation was this:

Marlene McKinnon had been Sirius's first girlfriend. They had held hands for the first time and wandered happily around Hogwarts together at the tender age of eleven, a sweet little blonde thing and the elusive Mr Black. It didn't last long, to say the least ("Sirius Black, you are DUMPED!" and off she walked, shaking with rage and stung by the injustice of it all; a lipstick-smeared Sirius had ran after her, leaving an equally ruffled looking Lucy Abbot bewildered in the broom closet), but affections lingered, awkward hellos were shared in passing and electricity still crackled when one hand brushed against another, a split second of a magic well beyond their creating.

They'd have been fools to believe to it be anything more or less than memories of a slightly more innocent time, but believe it he did. He still wanted her. Fool he may've been, but naïve he wasn't; the term 'he wanted her more than anything he could ever dream of' was never applicable, never mind the sapphires burning in her eyes (_oh, such a painful reminder of such a cold cousin_), the cheeky smile and cute dimples. It was a reasonable thing all along.

Some may say they knew where it was going; a classic love story of rejection and redemption, the guy gets the girl, and all is well. Not so. On the eve of her nineteenth birthday, Marlene McKinnon popped across the road to buy some milk. Fancied a cup of tea. Nothing unusual there. She was still wearing her slippers, pink fluff in all its glory encasing her feet and rubber soles slapping wetly against the damp tarmac.

The cat followed her, mewing pathetically and rubbing against her legs in the light drizzle. Perhaps she whispered a few words to the little tabby; "good girl, kitty," maybe, or, "don't you go putting those dirty paws on my sofa when we get back, you mucky thing, you…" Who knows? But one thing's for certain; she never made it 'back'. She hurried across to the convenience store, grabbed two litres of semi-skimmed milk in a plastic carton, set it down on the counter while she fished out her purse, and paid. She then proceeded to step back out into the cool January air, stuffing her purse back into her jeans pocket and tucking the milk under her arm as she bent down to scratch the waiting cat behind the ear.

"Come on, puss. Time for a quick cuppa for before Anthony comes round… I'll fix you up some dinner, too. Must be hungry by now, huh?" Had she made it back to her apartment that fateful afternoon, she would have discovered a rather delightful present of dead spider left on her doorstep, courtesy of Puss, but Marlene McKinnon was hit, most unfortunately, by a bus. Silly girl.

She wasn't watching where she was going. The bus couldn't stop in time. No doubt the driver tried to swerve, maybe covered his eyes with one hand at the sight of the girl lying limp in the middle of the road, surrounded by a pool of milk, with a tabby cat yowling and gently licking the cold, white stuff from her face and hands; rang for an ambulance; recounted the day's misadventures with a fascinated horror to his wife and two children that evening. _That_, however, is immaterial.

She was stretchered, comatose, away from the scene and rushed to the nearest hospital, a huge, blindingly clean (yet stunningly ugly) concrete city job that Sirius would later be delayed by five hours in finding due to Remus's apparently inadequate knowledge of northeast Manchester and supremely unclear giving of directions (he couldn't exactly say that James's shouting "give 'er the kiss of life, mate! Get in there!" down the phone had been exactly helpful either though).

_**-x-**_

Precisely three weeks later, Sirius just so happened to have been making his daily visit, and he just so happened to see her eyelids flickering, just ever so slightly, like butterfly kisses on his memory. He promptly ran to the hospital shop, bought the biggest, pinkest Valentine's Day card he could find, the brightest coloured box of chocolates in stock and attempted to short change the shop keeper by just as much as humanly possible.

He had a plan.

Sirius Black was a man on a mission.

A failed mission, it seemed at first, for this is where the pair's bleak history leaves off and the present comes into play.

"Marlene?" The blonde hair was now limp and frizzy, the eyes confused and mistrusting. Who could blame the girl?

Her throat was dry and sore, protesting painfully at her attempts to ask the man exactly who he was and why he was professing his undying love for her in the middle of a hospital ward, complete with chocolates and a Valentine's Day card the size of a house elf. She managed a hoarse grunt, looking pointedly at Sirius and to the tap, then back again.

"Oh! Sorry." He hurried to the sink and returned with half a glass of water, the other half decorating the floor with gleaming blobs of reflected light. She quietly observed his violently shaking hands, wondering what in the tiny, cramped room could possibly making him so nervous. _She_ was, as it happened, but she wasn't to know at the time.

"Wh--ho--why--who are you?"

His face fell.

"What? Marlene, I'm… it's Sirius. Don't you remember me?"

She shook her head slowly. A sort of abject horror began to descend upon her, seeping beneath the starched hospital sheets and grabbing hold of her fingertips like vices, tightening by the second and refusing to be shaken off.

"Excuse me, but… who am _I_?" The scene might've seemed comical to anyone but the two of them alone in the room. It smelt of cheap disinfectant that was meant to smell of lemons, but didn't. It smelt of despair.

"You really don't remember?" Living with a prankster for the best part of three years had take its toll on his gullibility.

A whispered 'no' rocketed through the space between them.

"Shit."

_**-x-**_

"… and, well, sometimes I used to think that I'd prefer it if you never spoke at all, because you never spoke to _me_. God… I feel like an idiot. You don't even know who I am anymore. You don't even know who _you_ are anymore! God… This is a situation I never thought I'd be in: giving an amnesiac who's been hit by a bus her full life story – _and_ mine," he half-laughed, unable to quite get his mouth around the sound in this place, this circumstance.

A curiously comfortable semi-darkness had fallen over the room, and she flattered herself that they shared a sense of vague familiarity. She felt strangely compelled to comfort him and try to make things better for the boy with the beautiful eyes, as she'd come to call him inside her head.

"I don't suppose you remember the time you dumped me in our fist year?" he asked, looking only mildly interested in an answer as he lounged against the empty locker beside her bed, a pair of reading glasses and a bottle of peach squash left abandoned on top.

"I don't suppose I do."

_**-x-**_

It had begun to rain. Light drizzle fell through the open window, making eerily musical sounds on the glass, a symphony of moonlit teardrops under the midnight sun. An abandoned spider's web hung from the outside wall, aglow with a fine mist of black crystals. Sirius let out a sigh. The room was now completely dark, and filled with an indescribable atmosphere. One couldn't have cut it so much as with a knife than a cleaver, though it was not tension crushing the walls together with its might so much as magic on that longest of nights.

The phrase, 'a comfortable silence' had never been so appropriate; when there are no gaps perceivable to the mind's eye, they need not be filled, unless maybe with a little moonlight to illuminate the invisible happenings in a seemingly empty room – for it was the ghost of a memory that flew around the ignorantly tranquil hospital ward that night, angel wings fluttering in the winter breeze as its fleeting touch was brushed away and blamed subconsciously on nothing more than a stray eyelash.

Sirius found himself quietly humming snatches of an old favourite song out loud, imagining wild scenes of diving through the window and dancing the raged cobweb around the courtyard to the tune of icy raindrops. He wondered momentarily if the shopkeeper had slipped hallucinogens into the cup of coffee he'd bought earlier to pass the time. Incidentally, the cup of coffee was actually residing in a rather dead looking potted plant in the corner of the room; Sirius had never liked coffee. He also wondered whether or not the plant was having such odd visions. He decided that it was not. Eventually. After a series of not-very-scientific deductions that included theories of alien spacecrafts having abducted the coffee and channelled the caffeine-induced hallucinations through laser beams and melted Io with their freakishness. He also deduced that Remus would've most probably fainted had he heard these crazed reasonings.

He felt that he _would_ quite like to go dancing in the rain. One day before he died, at least.

Looking back, he figures out this is probably about where the epiphanical thoughts began to steal into his mind, one by one, miniscule footprints burnt into his retinas as he began to realise.

She wasn't the same person anymore.

His Marlene wouldn't be sat silently in a hospital bed when there things to be done – good times to be had, rain to be danced in, memories to remake…

She didn't remember him. That hurt. Surely if he meant anything to her, she'd remember him? Or so his tired mind interpreted it.

And so, Marlene McKinnon woke up the next morning, refreshed and invigorated, to find a single black rose at the foot of her bed, a message attached reading, '_I loved you once_,' and she wept. Brief mental pictures of bombs raining down on New York City with 'I heart NY' flashed across her mind for mere nanoseconds before she wondered if someone had slipped hallucinogens into her peach squash.

**---**

She had not thought his actions melodramatic at the time, but perhaps would have if she'd any time to ponder – not even a week had passed before she was unmoving and unresponsive once again, but no handsome prince with his cursed ebony roses could awaken her now.


	29. Ariana and Gellert

**A Box of Chocolates**

**(Ariana/Gellert)**

**By ChrissyWhissy **

* * *

_She disturbed him_

She was _such _an odd creature. The way she could sit for hours and hours on end, not moving. Not a twitch, not a blink. Just like a statue, sitting on her bed for who knows how long, staring into space. Her clear blue eyes were distant, her expression vacant, as if she was in some kind of trance.

And when she finally moved, she acted as if nothing had happened. She had sat down for a moment, to rest her legs, but she was fine now, she said when he asked what had just happened. And she would smile, that sweet, innocent smile of hers, and inquired if he'd like to continue their game.

The way she cried. They would be doing something, anything, whether it was watering the flowers in the garden, or playing cards, or simply listening to the WWN, and suddenly he would notice the tears upon her face. She made no sound, but the tears would flow freely down her face, with no break, until suddenly they stopped. And she would continue whatever she was doing, as if nothing had happened, not even bothering to wipe the last of the tears off her face.

"Don't mind her," whispered Albus as he pulled him away from her, eager to work on their project, "She's not crying about anything… She's just weird like that."

_She fascinated him_

When he wasn't with her, he thought about her. He couldn't help but wonder at all her little oddities, which Albus shrugged off with a muttered "Crazy girl, don't mind her." Aberforth would reprimand him, when he was there, but never explained what she was, if not crazy.

So she remained a mystery, to him. He desperately wanted to solve it, her mystery. He spent time with her, he talked to her. She was, he discovered, a perfectly normal fourteen year old girl, except, well, when she wasn't. She disliked the way her brothers bossed her, she wished for some company of her own age and gender. She understood she was different, even believed she was dangerous. "But still," she would conclude every time.

But there were those times when she wasn't so normal. When Aberforth accidentally dropped a pan on the floor- the man was so clumsy, it really was sad- and she yelled, and clung to him, hugged him as though her life depended on it, like a small, frightened child. He stroked her hair, until her panic was gone, and she was once again fourteen.

_She captivated him _

She really was weird. Maybe that was why he couldn't tear his eyes off her. Everywhere she went, he followed with his eyes. He watched her from across the room, through the window, every chance he got. It was almost an obsession. Actually, scratch the almost.

He learned so much about her, from his observations. She hated red- the minute she saw anything red, she'd throw one of her tantrums. And heat; she couldn't stand heat. Aberforth always remembered to let her food cool down before she ate, but Albus was a little more forgetful. And she always showered in ice cold water. He knew, because he'd gotten in right after her, one of the times he'd stayed for the night.

She had a little swing, in the yard. She was rarely allowed to go out, but when she was, all she wanted was to swing. It was just another weird thing about her- a fourteen year old, spending her leisure hours swinging? But he learned to accept it, just like he learned to accept every other weird thing about her. It was that which fascinated him most of all, the way she was able to change him.

_She had his heart_

It was just another morning, much the same as all previous ones. He entered the Dumbledores' home, greeted by the usual quiet. Aberforth was probably out, and Albus would be in his room, waiting for his arrival. And like every morning, he did not immediately go upstairs, but first stopped by the little room that was hers, knocking gently on the door with his free hand.

"Good morning Ariana," he smiled at her, as she opened the door. "I've brought you something."

He handed her the little bag he held. His aunt had brought it for him from the market, yesterday. "Auntie, I'm not a child, you know," he had objected when he saw the gift lying on the table, "I don't need your presents."

"No matter, you can still have it. Or at least give it to the Dumbledore girl, if you won't take it. Poor girl, I'm sure she hasn't had any chocolate in a good while, and it would be a shame to throw it all…"

"A box of chocolates. I- Thanks, Gellert." She smiled, but it was forced, awkward. Not a real smile.

"Don't you like it? I mean, chocolate! Who doesn't like chocolate?" He was overly cheerful, teasing. He didn't want her to look at him like that, as if he'd done something terrible.

"No, no, it's not that. I love chocolate, though Abe never lets me have any. It's just…" She faltered, biting her lip, "A box of chocolates is a bit, I dunno, romantic? I mean, it's the sort of thing you'd expect as a Valentine's gift…"

He could feel the heat spread across his face. "No, no, that's not at all what I meant by it… Please, it's not like that," he was surprised to hear the pleading in his voice, as if he were begging her. "I found it lying around my aunt's house, and I can't eat it all by myself, you know," he was trying to lighten his voice, slip in some jokes, "So, y'know, I thought you'd like some."

"In that case," she smiled again, but this time truly, "Thank you very much. You'll come down later, after you finish with Al?"

That had happened a long time ago. He was older now, old by Muggle standards, and she was dead. He gazed at the calendar, which informed him today was the 14th of February, 1943. The closest he had ever gotten to a romantic gesture was that box of chocolates, and it still pained him, after so many years, to realize there would never be another chance.


	30. Cho and OC

**His Butterfly**

**(Cho/OC)**

**BY Kyota-Chan **

* * *

Cho Chang, age twenty-one, sat on the swing of a local Muggle playground, crying. Today was Valentine's Day – not exactly her favourite holiday. 

She sighed, sniffling pathetically. How long was this going to go on? They had won the war at last, but at what cost? Cedric, along with many others, was dead.

Cho ran her fingers through her chin-length, choppy black hair. She had cut it shortly after graduating Hogwarts; she'd figured it would make her look older and much more sophisticated. And Cedric had always liked her long, silky hair. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. This year, like the previous ones, she had taken the day off from her job at the Ministry. No-one knew why she did, and she wasn't going to explain.

"Hello, there." A quiet voice startled her. A man, about her age, was opening the gate to the playground, carrying a box of chocolates. Cho hurried to dry her tears with the sleeve of her sweater. (Thank Merlin she was wearing Muggle clothes!)

"Hi," she managed weakly. He reminded her slightly of Cedric – though his hair was light blonde, he had the same dove-grey eyes as her former boyfriend. She sniffed involuntarily, trying her hardest not to start bawling again. He stood in front of her.

"So…" The Cedric-look-alike rocked back and forth on his heels like a little boy, making her smile. "What's your story?"

"Hmm?"

"Sorry. I meant, why are you crying on Valentine's Day?" He smiled warmly at her, taking the swing to her right.

"I…my boyfriend…" She was at a loss for words. What was she supposed to say? My boyfriend was killed by the most notorious evil wizards in all history many years ago? She was almost positive he was a Muggle; he wouldn't have the slightest idea who Voldemort was.

"Oh, sorry, that was rather tactless of me, wasn't it?" He blew out a puff of air; his breath was easily visible in the cold February air. It was frigid, but Cho didn't care. "I'm Brent Landon, nice to meet you."

She managed a watery smile. "Cho Chang."

"Cho…" He frowned thoughtfully. "That's 'butterfly' in Japanese, right?"

"Yes." She smiled again, a real one this time. "That's right."

She glanced down at the box of chocolates he held in his hands. "May I ask why you've got those?"

"Ah…" His eyes traveled to the red heart-shaped box. "Well, you see, they were for my girlfriend."

"Were?" she couldn't resist prying.

"Yeah…she broke up with me…this morning…on the telephone, no less."

"Oh…" A Muggle, then. Wizards would have broken up through owl. Cho looked at him, sympathetic, but he just shrugged.

"Would you like one?" He opened the box of candy and offered it to her. "These were too expensive to let go to waste." When she hesitated, he added, "Really, have one. They're supposed to be pretty good."

"Oh…all right, then," she said softly, plucking a white chocolate truffle from the box. "You have one too, then."

Brent obliged, taking a seashell-shaped candy and eating it all in one bite. "So, where do you live?"

"Around," she answered, praying she came off as coy and not crazy.

"That's nice," he replied playfully. "Can you tell me what you do for a living?"

"Nope." She smirked, putting a finger to her lips. "It's top secret."

"Oh? All right, then," he shrugged. "I like your hair, by the way." She reached up to touch it self-consciously.

They talked for a while, laughing and flirting. Cho was surprised to find that they had lots in common: both weren't fond of red roses (too cliché), both enjoyed photography (though Cho wasn't very good at it), and neither liked dark chocolate – "Too bitter," Brent had proclaimed it. She ended up giving him her phone number _and_ her address, receiving in exchange a promise of some sign of contact very soon.

"Are you working for the Prime Minister?" he tried, still attempting to guess her occupation.

"Nope," she answered, sticking her tongue out at him childishly. Being with him was just so fun and natural and easy; she didn't want this day to ever end.

"An undercover spy?" he guessed, and she just laughed.

The two also ended up polishing off the box of chocolates, and Cho was truly glad they had met. She hadn't felt a real connection with anyone since Harry (Michael Corner was just a distraction), and that relationship hadn't ended well.

"This was fun," she said thoughtfully. The sun was just setting beyond the horizon.

"It was," Brent agreed. Then "I'd like to see you again," he added in a more serious tone.

"Definitely," she agreed. "But if you don't call me, I'll have to hunt you down," she teased. "After all, I'm a government-certified secret agent."

---

The next day, a single lavender rose was delivered to her flat. Lavender, for enchantment, majesty, love at first sight. Along with it was a note, reading:

_A rose for my butterfly._

She couldn't help but smile upon seeing this. Yes, she was a butterfly, but maybe, just maybe, she'd let him catch her.


	31. George and Angelina

**A Box of Chocolates  
**

**(George/Angelina)**

**By HeidiBug731 **

It's bad enough when your brother steals your girlfriend; it's even worse when you watch him fuck it all up.

And, yes, you can curse in Heaven.

In case you haven't realized by now, I'm dead. My name is Fred Weasley, and that prat of a brother I mentioned is my twin, George. He stole my girlfriend.

Well, no. That's just a joke that Bill started when George and Angelina were going together. He didn't actually steal her from me, not when I was the one who put the idea in Angelina's head that it was okay to go with George.

Looking back now, it's funny how it all started. Our sixth year at Hogwarts, I suggested to George that he ask Angelina to the Yule Ball. He had liked her since second year, but he'd never gotten up the nerve to ask her out. I kept telling him that one of these days someone else was going to ask her and then it would be too late. I never would have guessed that the "someone" he'd lose her to would be me.

Yes, I asked Angelina to go to the Ball with me that year, but that was only because George was being too much of a pansy to ask her himself. I wanted to make George jealous. I wanted to make him angry. I wanted to make him feel _something_ that would spur him into action and _finally_ tell Angelina how he felt.

That night, I ended up enjoying myself a lot more than I thought I would. I told George afterwards what I had meant by it, that I had just wanted to motivate him. I told him that I wasn't really interested in her, that she was his for the taking.

I stood back and waited, but he never made a move. I should have asked him why he didn't do it, but I was too happy by his inactivity to complain. I had discovered at the Yule Ball that I liked Angelina a lot more than I ever thought I did. So, after waiting fruitlessly for George to take the initiative, Angelina and I started dating.

Long story short: I died; we stopped dating.

George was a mess at my viewing--heck, everyone was, but it was George I worried most about. I had never seen him like that. He didn't look like he was really there. He seemed like a ghost. I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd suddenly floated right through my coffin, through the wall of the house, out into the yard and beyond, never stopping, just floating endlessly onward.

As it was, he never left my side. He stood by me the entire time, never taking his eyes from my body, an expression on his face that showed just how clearly lost he was. I tried to help him.

"Hey, George." I said. "Remember Uncle Bilius's viewing?" I knew he couldn't really hear me, but if he listened hard enough, a thought or a memory would be able to get through to him.

We were twelve when Bilius died. We stood beside his body and, much to mum's dismay, dared one another to touch him. In the end, neither of us had gotten up the nerve to do it.

I knew that had I been physically standing next to my brother with someone else lying in the coffin, even if it had been a close family member, George would have genuinely smiled, if only the tiniest bit, at the memory of our early mischief making days. So, regardless of the fact that I was the one lying the coffin and therefore wasn't physically able to be with George, I couldn't understand why my musings didn't merit even the slightest response. George looked just as lost as ever.

What I failed to realize at that moment was that I wasn't having as hard of a time with the duo to solo transition as George was. For me, the duo lived on as long as I could still see George, and though I never forgot the fact that George couldn't see me, I was frustrated with not being able to get through to him. I knew if he listened hard enough, I'd be able to get through, and since I wasn't able to, that meant he wasn't trying, and I was angry with him for that. I couldn't comprehend at the time that my brother felt like half of him had died and was therefore going through emotional turmoil and therefore had a perfectly good reason for going completely emo.

I decided to try Angelina. I found her talking to my parents.

"How's George?" I heard her say as I eased in on their conversation.

Mum turned to look at him. "He's taking it hard. Granted, we all are, but . . . We've all tried talking to him . . . I don't know what else to do for him. I think he just needs some time alone. At least, I hope--"

A rather loud and shameless voice suddenly traveled through the room. I, fortunately, could tune it out. Just like she did with the couples at weddings, Aunt Muriel wasn't afraid of pointing out what she considered to be the bad qualities of the deceased at funerals. Don't get me wrong. She's my aunt and I love her, but sometimes . . . I really hate that woman.

Mum and Dad went to go sort her out, which left Angelina alone and staring at George, who was too far gone to notice.

"Go on," I said. "Talk to him."

She heard me. Well, she didn't _hear me_ hear me in the sense that she heard my voice, but I got through to her. She gave a sharp intake of breath as though she had been struck by a sudden idea and she moved forward. I was so happy I could have kissed her had I not . . . well, you know.

She walked up beside George, placing her hands on the edge of my coffin. "He looks . . . peaceful."

I chanced a look myself and then quickly pulled away. Let me tell you, seeing yourself dead . . . is _weird_.

"He doesn't look right," said George.

Angelina reconsidered. "Well, no. You're right. He doesn't."

Granted, I had only gotten a brief glimpse of myself, but I had to agree with them. I looked like a wax model . . . a very handsome wax model.

The two stood in silence for a while. George currently wasn't one for talking, Angelina didn't know what to say to him, and I couldn't think of any words to give her.

At length Angelina put her hand on George's arm. "George, it's gonna be okay. Really it is. Everything is going to be fine."

He turned and looked at her. I noticed there were tears in her eyes.

"It will be fine," she said. "We'll make it through this."

She stared crying, and I was seriously considering attempting to possess George if he didn't stop standing there stupidly and _do_ something, but at length he put his arms around her. What surprised me was that he was crying too.

- - -

I learned from my viewing that if I wanted to help George, I was going to have to do it through Angelina. She had been able to get through to him where I hadn't. And so, on August 13, Angelina came through the shop's front door. It had been three months since my death, and even though George and Angelina had made contact with each other during that time. I decided things needed to get moving faster.

Ron was in the shop restocking shelves. Mum hadn't liked the idea of George being at the shop on his own. So good old Ron volunteered to help him out on top of all the stuff he was doing for Kingsley. Sometimes, Ron's just so brilliant that I really do feel bad about turning his teddy bear into a spider all those years ago.

George was walking around the shop and conversing with customers. He looked up as Angelina came in. She walked over to examine the pygmy puffs in their cage and George walked up to her, greeting her the way I used to by grabbing her sides.

She screamed, saw who it was, and laughed. "George!" She hit him. "You scared me."

He chuckled. "What can I help you with?"

"My sister is having her birthday in few days, and I thought she might like a pygmy puff."

Actually, _I_ thought she might like a pygmy puff.

"Well, as you can see," George gestured at the cage. "They are pretty popular."

There were only three left. One was pink, the other purple, and the third was strangely red. I wished I was alive so I could ask George when we figured out how to breed pygmy puffs in colors other than pink and purple.

"How did you get a red one?"

Or I could just think hard enough and have Angelina ask for me.

George shrugged. "It just happened."

And here I was hoping there was going be a more exciting answer involving an explosion of some sort.

George opened the door to the cage. "They are all pretty friendly." He took the purple one in his hands and it rolled around on his palms.

Angelina smiled and reached into the cage to take the pink one. She put it on her shoulder after George told her that they liked it up there. It rolled gleefully down her arm and back into her hand.

"And sometimes they just like palms."

She laughed.

The red pygmy had rolled up to the edge of the cage was looking at Angelina. George pointed it out to her. "I think he likes you."

"How can you tell it's a he?"

"I can't."

She smiled. "Fair enough." She reached out for the red pygmy but it rolled away from her. "You know, I'm not so sure he does like me."

"That one's just shy. I'm sure he likes you, he's just afraid to let you know."

She looked up at him. "And why would he be afraid of letting me know?"

"Well . . . because you're holding his brother."

"Really?" She put the pink pigmy down.

"You see," said George. "He's shy because you seemed to have really liked his brother, and even though he really likes you, he's afraid you might not like him as much and he really wants you to."

I rolled my eyes. George was really bad at this kind of thing.

"He knows things are complicated and he knows things might be awkward, and he doesn't want them to be, but there's always the chance--"

"I'll just take this one." While George had been blabbing, Angelina had put her hands into the cage and the red pygmy had rolled willingly onto her palms.

George looked confused for a moment, but then he led Angelina over to the counter. He rang her up and put the pygmy in a pet box.

"You know," said Angelina. "I'm free Friday."

George looked up at her. "Really? That's great! I mean, uh . . . well . . . would you be willing to . . ."

I slapped a hand to my face. _George, seriously, it's not that difficult._

"You can pick me up at six," she said.

And before George could fully comprehend that Angelina had just consented to go a date with him even though he hadn't actually gotten up the nerve to ask her, she had turned from the counter and walked out of the shop.

"George," I said, wishing he could hear me. "You are so pathetic."

Six o'clock on Friday came sooner than I expected. George picked Angelina up punctually and they went out and, as far as I could tell, they had a good time. They seemed happy enough when they returned, anyway.

If you had known me when I was living, you probably would have expected me to follow the two of them around. I'll admit that watching my brother make a complete fool of himself on his date was something I had always thought would be fun to do. So, yes, I followed them . . . for about five minutes, and then I turned back around. As it happened, it much wasn't fun at all. It was extremely uncomfortable, and I felt like I was doing something that I shouldn't be . . . kind of like that time when I talked George into trying to do an Unbreakable Vow with Ron and dad caught us. Somehow I just didn't think following George and Angelina around on their date was something I should be doing. Not like that ever stopped me when I was alive but . . . well, let's just say that some things change when you die.

- - -

Summer faded away and October came, along with Halloween. The shop was in full swing; Verity had been called in for additional help and when Angelina arrived, she barely managed to push her way through the crowd. Lee Jordan was throwing a party for some close friends and, whether George liked it or not, she was going to make him go.

"Come on, George." She grabbed onto his arm.

"Are you sure you can manage without me?"

"We'll be fine." Ron finally succeeded in tugging off George's magenta robes. "Go enjoy yourself."

Verity threw George's green dress robes at him.

"Come on." Angelina gave another insistent tug on his arm.

But George suddenly latched onto the counter, reaching for a stack of papers that Ron had just placed his hand on. "Just throw those in a drawer for me. I'll do them when I get back."

"But I can--"

"I can't let you two do all the work. Look, just save me the incoming orders. You guys can knock yourselves out with the rest of it if you really want, but just save me that. At least let me feel like I didn't dump everything on you."

"All right. All right. Fine." Ron opened a drawer beside him and slid the stack of papers inside it. "There. Happy?"

But Angelina had managed to loose George's fingers from the counter and was already pulling him through the mass of people toward the front the door where the cool night air awaited them.

I followed suit. Let me remind you that this was a party, not a date, so it was okay for me to follow them.

Lee had given all of his friends permission to apparate inside his flat. The six of them sat around and played games, told stories, munched on festive foods, and refused to answer the door. George cracked jokes left and right throughout the evening, and I thought he was the life of the party. Angelina, on the other hand, seemed a little detached.

It took a little while longer for George to notice than it took me, but he eventually put an arm around her and gave her side a squeeze. "Are you okay?"

She smiled at him and nodded. "I'm fine."

George didn't press it. The evening wore on, he tired, the frequency of his jokes lessened, and Angelina seemed to enjoy herself more.

- - -

Christmas rolled around, and the missing stocking on the wall that should have been a blaring sign that I couldn't be there was overlooked by the four stockings that had been added. Not only had all the Weasleys gathered together that Christmas, but Harry, Hermione, Fleur and Angelina had joined as well.

Consequently, that Christmas was when Angelina received her first Weasley sweater. "We want you to know, dear," my mother said to her, "that whatever happens between you and George, we consider you a member of our family."

It was also that Christmas when Bill started the joke that George had stolen my girlfriend. Bill had meant it all in good fun, but George hadn't liked it very much. I thought it was funny considering that, depending on how you looked at it, it was actually me who had stolen George's girlfriend back in sixth year.

Throughout the day, gifts were unwrapped, and laughs, smiles, and hugs were shared. By the end of the day, all that was left was for the speech to be given--the one that George and I gave at the end of every Christmas dinner--when we attended, that is. I hadn't expected him to do it without me, but he did.

As was our usual fashion, George climbed from his chair--the chair I usually sat in, to be exact--and onto the table, glass in hand. This time however, there was no one to climb up with him. Immediate silence fell. There were a few surprised looks around the table. I don't think the rest of my family had been expecting him to do it anymore than I had.

George took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his eyes darting to and from each person sitting below him. "I'm afraid this isn't going to be as funny as it would have if Fred could have been here, but I'm going to do my best."

He took another breath. "There should be a chair at this table without an occupant. However, thanks to all of you," he looked pointedly at Angelina, Fleur, Harry and Hermione, "I'm able to look around this table and see how our family has expanded rather than notice how there's something missing from it.

"And yet, I think it's important on this day to remember Fred and why he isn't here. I think it's important to think back before the battle on May second and to remember what life was like and to realize that if things hadn't changed, we most likely would not have had Christmas today.

"We sacrificed a lot, all of us did, and not just on that day at the battle but throughout that entire year. We lost friends, family," he indicated his missing ear, "various body parts." He won chuckles from the group sitting below him. "Some of us even lost our lives. And I think that today of all days, it's important to remember what was sacrificed so that we could all be together. It's important to think back to that time, when we didn't know if we'd make it to tomorrow, and to realize how lucky--how _blessed_--we are now to be able to dream of the future, and to recognize that we're able to do so because of what was given up.

"We need to remember people like Fred and to ask ourselves on days like this what did he sacrifice and _why _did he do it. And we need to be able to look around the table as I'm doing now and see the answer. It's really not all that dramatic when you think about it; Fred gave his life for nothing more or less than the very same reason we come together every holiday. As cliche as it may sound, we fought because we had something worth fighting for, and we come together now because we have something worth coming together for. We have people who love us and, in the end, that's what's important above everything else."

He raised his glass. "And so," he glanced at Harry and Hermione, "to friends," at the large majority of redheads at the table, "to family," at Angelina, "to loved ones," at no one in particular "and to those who can't here with us--either because they've moved on from this world or because" he smiled, "they're out celebrating with their own family--merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," was muttered around the table, glasses came together and everyone drank.

I was surprised at what a well carried out speech that had been, even without the humor I would have provided. I was touched too--might have teared up a little had I still had a body.

George climbed down from the table just as everyone else began to rise from their seats. Angelina was there to put a hand on his arm. "That was beautiful."

George shrugged. "Fred would have been able to make it funnier. With just me it was kind of depress--"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "It was better."

He stared at her for a long moment, wanting to say something but not really knowing what it was.

At length, Bill gave a catcall. "Is that mistletoe I see?"

George looked at him, saw where his older brother was pointing, and glanced up above his and Angelina's heads. That had _not_ been there five seconds ago.

George frantically looked around for the culprit. Dad was helping Mum gather the dishes from the table. Bill and Fleur were innocently standing with Charlie nearly ten feet away and there wasn't a single magical device to be seen in either of their hands. Hermione was gathering up dishes on her end, and Ron appeared to be talking to Harry and Ginny who hadn't even gotten up from the table yet. Percy stood suspiciously just a few feet from Angelina, but, under George's gaze, he quickly held up his hands to show that he didn't have his wand.

What I had noticed and George hadn't was that earlier mum had tucked her wand inside the pocket of her apron and had been quick enough to grab it as she stood from the table. She'd stashed it back away before anyone had noticed, and she'd done all this without prompting from yours truly.

It was around this moment, when I was wondering how else our mother had mischievously influenced our lives without our noticing, that George realized everyone was staring at him, waiting for him to make a move.

He broke into a stuttering mess. "Well, I-I haven't--I mean we-we're, uh . . ." He looked at Angelina for help. "The-the thing is . . ."

Did my ears deceive me or was my blundering twin trying to explain that he and Angelina had been dating since _August_ and he hadn't gotten up the nerve to kiss her yet? Oh, my vow to not follow them around was _so_ broken. If I had been there to keep an eye on them, I would have made sure that he'd kissed her by now.

"I-I, um--"

"George." Angelina turned his face toward hers and kissed him firmly.

It was plain to not only me but to everyone else in the room that she had been waiting to be kissed for a while now and was only too happy for the excuse.

George looked shocked at first, but then he relaxed and held out his glass for someone to take. Fleur grabbed it, though George wasn't paying enough attention to notice who did it. As soon as the glass left his fingers, he put his arms around Angelina and kissed her perhaps a little more eagerly than was appropriate for mistletoe kissing--not that it looked like Angelina minded.

I saw Bill eyebrows shoot upward. "Well," he said after a few moments. "That table isn't going to clear itself."

Everyone quickly rushed to help with the dishes, leaving George and Angelina alone--except for me, who was watching the two of them and grinning like an idiot.

Eventually, they pulled away from each other, their faces barely an inch apart.

Angelina smiled. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

George let out an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sorry that I didn't--"

Like before, she brought a finger to his lips. "George. Don't talk." She kissed him again.

- - -

I must have missed January because when I turned around it was not only February but Valentine's day. Angelina and George had plans to spend the afternoon alone in George's flat above the joke shop.

George had spent the earlier part of the day running the joke shop on his own, opening it for only a few hours and getting relatively good business during that time. Then he went up to the flat and started preparations on what he and Angelina would have for dinner. By the time she knocked on the door, George had just finished setting the table.

He opened the door and handed her a rose, pink in color. She took it from him, smiling. She moved in to smell it and it squirted her in the face with water. Angelina looked stunned for a moment and then laughed. I tell you, that girl has a fantastic sense of humor, and that's the only way she managed to put with me for two years.

She wiped the water from her face. "I should have seen that coming."

"How so?"

"Well, Fred gave me a squirting rose for the Yule Ball."

George looked slightly deflated. "Yeah, well, the water gag's a classic. Faded away due to overuse a few decades ago but it's making a comeback. Oh, what am I saying? Here." He pulled out his wand and charmed Angelina's shirt dry. "Sorry about that."

She patted where the wet spot had been and smiled. "No harm done."

He didn't look too comforted.

I didn't understand what the problem was. "Okay, so you unintentionally copied off of me, but it was a success, George! She laughed! Don't frown at it."

She stepped into the flat. George moved behind her, shutting the door and taking her jacket from her shoulders. They sat down together on the couch, Angelina resting against George's chest. He had an arm slung along the back of the couch, the other around Angelina.

They talked for a long while, and I tried not to listen. It just made me uncomfortable, not because it was my ex-girlfriend with my brother, but just because watching them being all cute and gentle and mushy with each other was slightly sickening. I needed to get away from the cuteness, so I sat in a corner on the far side of the room and tried to entertain myself.

I'm not sure how much time passed, but at some point something Angelina said made me start, and George, too, apparently.

"What?" He straightened from his resting position, bringing his arm down from the couch.

She sat up and turned to look at him. "I love you."

He stared at her and nodded slowly. "I thought that's what you said."

I couldn't tell if George was having one of his awkward moments or if there was something wrong.

He reached out to take her hand. "Angelina, I--"

The kitchen timer went off and they both jumped.

"Hungry?" He stood.

"George--" She reached for him, but he slipped from her grasp.

He was shaking as he walked over to the stove and grabbed the potholder.

"George." Angelina got up and made her way to him as he bent down to pull the small roast out of the oven. She reached to place a hand his arm. "George, I--"

He jumped at her touch, dropping their dinner, the roast and vegetables rolling out of the pan, spilling hot juices. The pan dropped from George's hands, clanging on the floor.

Angelina brought a hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean . . ." She grabbed the potholder, picked the pan off the floor and put it on the stove.

George dropped into a chair. "I can't do this anymore."

"George, it's just dinner. We could--"

"No, Angelina. I mean, _this_," he gestured between the two of them. "I can't do _this_ anymore. You don't love me, Angelina."

She turned toward him slowly. "What are you talking about?"

"You don't love me," he said. "You love Fred. Being with me is just another way for you to be with him."

She stared at him, her mouth open in indignation. "How can you say that?"

"It's true."

"It's _not_," she told him. "You really think I'm _that _low? That I would _use_ you like that?"

He stood from the chair. "I don't think you're low, Angelina. I just don't think you realize that you're projecting your feelings for him onto me."

"George." She stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.

He shook her off. "Just leave me alone, Angelina."

"Not until you talk to me and explain what's going on."

"I want you to leave."

"I'm not going."

"Angelina--"

"No."

He grabbed her by the arm and started dragging her toward the door.

"George!"

"Just go! Get out!"

He snatched up her jacket with his free hand and shoved her outside, throwing the jacket out after her and slamming the door.

"George Weasley!" Angelina pounded on the door from outside. "You open this door this minute! George! George!"

He fell with his back against the door, and then he slowly slid down to the floor and put his face in his hands. Angelina's yells gradually turned to sobs and the pounding subsided until there was nothing.

I was in shock. What the hell had just happened? I couldn't wrap my mind around it. I couldn't make sense of how George had acted. "She tells you she loves you and you . . . You think you're a placeholder, is that it? You think she's going out with you because she liked me?"

I watched as George brought his hands from his face. There was moisture on his cheeks. Instead sympathizing with George, I just became more frustrated. "_I_ was the placeholder, dumb ass! Not you! You liked her from the beginning!"

George shook his head and slowly picked himself off the floor. I continued to yell at him. "Valentine's day! It's flipping Valentine's Day! You broke up with her on _Valentine's_ Day! What in the name of Merlin's baggy Y-fronts--?" All right, so, yes, it had always been agreed upon that I was better with girls than George, but this was just ridiculous. "People get _together_ on Valentine's Day, not the other way around!"

George walked passed me. "You always were the biggest prat that ever lived! Wait, no. That was Percy. Fine! You're the _second_ biggest prat that ever lived. And considering all the prats out there, that's still a rather impressive title to hold! I mean, just what the--?"

When I spun around to holler some more, I noticed he had collapsed in my old bed. I shook my head at him. He used to joke back when I was alive and Angelina and I were having one of our little spats that "A box of chocolates can fix anything." I knew at that moment that all the chocolate in the world couldn't help him.

"George," I said, "you've bollixed things up worse that I ever have."

- - -

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine."

"George--I've got those."

"No, I've got them. It's all right."

"George . . ." Ron stared after his brother as he began gathering up the incoming orders. "I'm here to the help. That's why you asked me over here."

"I didn't ask you over here. Mum did."

"George--."

"I've got these, Ron. If you want to help, you can do something else."

"You've got enough to do already." Ron reached for the papers. "Why don't you let me--?"

"I said, I've got it! Okay?"

"They're just papers, George." When his brother didn't say anything, Ron sighed and asked, "Who did the incoming orders before I got here?"

"Fred. Why?"

Ron rubbed the back of his neck.

"Go on," I said bitterly, "maybe he'll listen to you. He won't listen to me." It had been three days since his break up with Angelina and I was still irritated about it.

Ron sighed. "I know you didn't want me to come here because . . . because you didn't want me replacing Fred."

My head snapped up. Who would have thought little ickle Ronniekins would listen to me better than my own twin?

"I didn't--" George started.

Ron held up a hand. "No, George. Listen for a minute. I know what's going on and you need to hear this. You've been a mess since Fred died. I've noticed. You've tried to pull yourself together, but really you've just been . . ."

He sighed again. George tried to interject but Ron pushed on.

"You won't let me do any of Fred's work or stay in the upstairs apartment. You're doing all of Fred's work, you've taken on aspects of his personality and his habits. You sat in his chair at Christmas, you greet Angelina they way he used to, you crack jokes at everything. It's like you're trying to keep Fred alive by living his life, and now you're wondering if you only started dating Angelina because Fred liked her."

Ron looked like he was going to end it there, but I urged him on, feeding my own thoughts to him.

"I can understand that you don't want to let go, George. I can understand that you don't want me taking Fred's place, but you can't take his place either. You can't be both yourself and Fred. It doesn't work that way. You know that, and that's why you broke it off with Angelina, because you're not yourself when you're trying to be Fred and you know that's not fair to her.

"You didn't want to kiss her before because you knew what you were doing to yourself and you didn't want to drag her into it. But then she kissed you at Christmas and you realized you were in love her and that you had been for a long time. It's been driving you crazy ever since because you keep asking yourself if she likes you because of you or because you're pretending to be Fred.

"You have to let him go, George. You've got to live your own life, because otherwise you're not really living and Fred wouldn't want to see you going on like that, I know he wouldn't. We all miss him, but the fact is he's gone and no matter how hard we try, no matter how much we might pretend, none of us can bring him back, not even you."

There was silence. I looked up from Ron at my twin. There were tears in his eyes. For a long moment neither of them moved. Ron waited awkwardly for George to say something.

"I miss him, Ron," he finally said.

"I miss him too. We all do. But we miss you as well."

"Have I really been that bad?"

"Why do you think mum asked me to help you out? I mean, she probably would have done so regardless, but I wouldn't have come here if I hadn't been worried too. And I certainly wouldn't have stayed if you didn't want me here unless I thought I had a good reason too."

George rubbed eyes and then surveyed his younger brother. "When did you grow up, Ron?"

Ron smiled and shrugged. "Hermione might be rubbing off on me a little bit.

"I guess so."

They embraced for a moment.

"Thanks, Ron."

"No problem."

George looked toward the storefront door. "Would you mind if--?"

"What are you asking me for? Just go get her."

George didn't need telling twice, but when he neared the door he turned back around. "Hey, Ron. Do those orders for me, will you?"

- - -

George apparated in front of Angelina's house. He climbed the step to the door and knocked three times. The door opened to reveal Angelina's father standing in the foyer. I had always thought him to be a good-natured man, but he suddenly seemed very large, very frightening, and very capable of hurting George very badly. He stepped forward, framing himself in the doorway. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at George. "Yes?" He raised an eyebrow and seemed to be inquiring George's right to be there.

"Uh . . ." George was fighting the rather strong urge to take a few steps back out of arm's reach of Angelina's father. "I'd like to talk to Angelina."

"She doesn't want to talk to you right now," said Mr. Johnson.

"I realize that, sir--believe me, I do--but I really need to talk to her."

"Well, you should have thought about that before you hurt her and gave up your right to talk to her." Mr. Johnson stepped back into the foyer and had nearly shut the door when a voice said:

"I've got it, Daddy. Thanks."

Angelina came out onto the step, forcing George to step down onto the sidewalk. She closed the door behind her and folded her arms in the same manner her father had. "Yes?"

The sigh of relief that George had been halfway through releasing stuck in his throat, and I couldn't help but wonder if George might have been better off with Angelina's father. "I-I wanted to talk to you."

"So I heard."

George took a breath. "I, uh, I hurt you, and I apologize for that."

She nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"I haven't been the same since Fred died," he said. "You may not have noticed, but I've been . . . adopting habits of his. I've been sleeping in his old bed and I've been taking on all his former duties. Ron said I was trying to live both his life and mine at the same time, and I--"

He sighed. "I've always liked you, Angelina. Always. Ever since second year, but I just couldn't get up the nerve the tell you. I didn't think you'd like me back. I saw so many imperfections with myself, especially when I compared myself with Fred. He was the funnier one. He was more outgoing. He was better with girls. He could talk his way out of almost anything. He had that reckless attitude that I always went along with but could never adopt. And when I saw the two of you together at the Yule Ball, I just . . . you deserved each other. Why would anyone pick me over him?"

I was stunned. I had no idea George had an inferiority complex with me.

"If I had died and Fred had lived, he wouldn't have fallen apart like I have. He was always the stronger one. He could hold his own. I was the tag-a-long. I could come up with ideas but I never had the guts to put them in motion. I needed Fred for that. I would have chickened out of a lot of things if it hadn't been for him. If I liked a girl, I could never say anything. Fred had to egg me on. I'm not reckless or careless or cool like him. I'm the one who's always aware of the consequences, always erring on the side of caution. Fred knew what he wanted and he wasn't afraid of getting it. But me, I can be shy and backward. I can be weak and pathetic . . . stupid."

"George--" Angelina and I protested in unison.

"I'm missing an _ear_!" he told her. "An entire ear! It's gone! These are my imperfections, Angelina. You need to know them so you can't say you weren't forewarned." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "But you said you loved me. And if you can see past all my flaws, then . . . then I guess I can too . . . if you'll help me . . . and if you'll forgive me for being a dick earlier. And if you'll help me with this multiple personality thing that I've apparently developed and I hope I've gotten over."

She chuckled at him. "George." She shook her head. "I wouldn't go so far as to call it a multiple personality disorder."

"What would you call it, then?"

"I always thought it was just some grieving process you were going through."

"You 'always thought?'"

"George," she unfolded her arms. "I noticed from day one that there were times when you weren't acting like yourself."

"You--really?"

"You could be pretty obvious about it at times," she told him. "But I _never_ confused Fred with you. I knew when you were being yourself and when you weren't. The rose was you. The water gag wasn't, but the rose was. You drove me up at the wall at Lee's party when you had to make a joke out of everything like Fred would have. But all those nights together when we just enjoyed each other's company, that was you." She stepped down toward him. "You sat in Fred's chair Christmas but that speech was yours. And don't grab my sides. I _hate_ that."

"You let Fred do it."

"Yes, well that was Fred, and this is you."

"But, I--"

She pressed a finger to his lips. "And that day in the shop when you were being all cute and awkward while trying to ask me out, that was you too. You don't crack jokes at everything little thing, but when you let one fly, it's perfect. You look before you leap. You might be shy and backward, but it can be cute. And the ear doesn't bother me. I know the differences between you and Fred, and, to tell you the truth, even though I dated Fred for two years . . . I _really_ like George."

George couldn't help but grin idiotically. "Really?"

"Yeah."

They stared at each other for a long moment. It was a perfect cue for George to make a move but he just stood there. I wanted to hit him over the head with something. "George! Go _on_ already!"

As though he really had heard me, he leaned in and kissed her. Angelina put her arms around his neck and kissed him back.

"Ahem."

The both parted to look at Angelina's father who was standing in the doorway.

"Be right in, Daddy," she said before turning back to George. "We'll work on this."

"On what?"

"On the you being you thing, on the missing Fred thing, on the why I like you more than him thing, on us, everything. We'll work on it."

He smiled. "I'd like that."  
She hugged him.

At that moment, I knew I didn't have watch over them any longer. They were going to be just fine without me. George had come through, and he hadn't even needed a box of chocolates to make things right.


End file.
